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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. Oh, 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 is 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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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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About us. General queries and emails to |
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Last updated 18 April 2010 Copyright © Paul Ward 2000 - 2010 |
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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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