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.
“love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,” —
How often is our love a conditional expression of commitment and fidelity? “I promise to love you until I no longer love you,” or “until you no longer make me happy,” or until we get so close to the “edge of doom” that I just can’t risk it anymore.
Love, the unconditional kind, does not alter even when alterations inevitably occur. It remains steadfast — like an ever-fixed star that looks on the troubles and never wavers.
Love, the forever kind, outlasts time.
“Love never fails.”
I love that.