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Sonnet 116


Let me not to the marriage of true minds


        Admit impediments. Love is not love


Which alters when it alteration finds,


        Or bends with the remover to remove:


O no! it is an ever-fixed mark


        That looks on tempests and is never shaken;


It is the star to every wandering bark,


        Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.


Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks


        Within his bending sickle's compass come:


Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,


        But bears it out even to the edge of doom.


If this be error and upon me proved,


        I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


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I believe the love Shakespeare spoke of did exist in my lifetime. If it exists today -- and I guess it does -- it's hard to find. We don't see much evidence of it. But until it's rediscovered eroticism will have to do. Doesn't quite satisfy, though, I don't think. ------------ Charlie

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Love it!

...Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds.


No one's ever defined love better in one simple sentence.