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 start 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 (1564-1616)