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 tempest, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be
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 ev'n to the edge of doom: --
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
I found that Shakespeare gem in this 70 year old treasure I have at my house. My grandfather's name was George, but my grandmother's name for him was Tony. I bet only she knows exactly why, but there it is, on my shelf, inscribed with romance "to his only treasured love."
So here's to love- not the kitchy Valentine's Day kind, but to the kind that endures.