S hakespeare wrote that ". . .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. . ." {Sonnet 116) We live because there is that kind of love - there must be. There is a driving need, a passion, at the core of our being for that kind of love - a love that does not change and does not fail. A love that looks us square in the face, knows all about us, and is unswervingly constant to us. We strive for, search for, seek for a love that is as broad and deep as the sea and as limitless as the sky. Our very lives depend on its existence. Wh...
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