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