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| Drink to me, 
			only with thine eyes And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine: But might I of Jove's nectar sup I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
 
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| Love is, above all, the gift of oneself. - Jean Anouilh, When I am sad and 
			weary. When I think all hope has gone.  Those have most power to hurt us that we love. - Francis Beaumont | 
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