06 junho 2015






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.






William Shakespeare





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