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:
The course of true love never did run smooth
Kiss me, Kate, we shall be married o’Sunday
If music be the food of love, play on;
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
My only love sprung from my only hate.
Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun:
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