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| 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 | |
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| Oh, no. It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. | |
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| It is the star to every wandering bark whose worth's unknown, though his height be taken... | |
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love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come
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| Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. | |
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| If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved | |
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