Oxfordshire, the place to marry Oxfordshire 2017 | Page 19

Sonnet 116 He’s not perfect
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 wand’ring 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 prov’d,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d. “He’s not perfect. You aren’t either, and the two of you
will never be perfect. But if he can make you laugh at
least once, causes you to think twice, and if he admits
to being human and making mistakes, hold onto him
and give him the most you can. He isn’t going to quote
poetry, he’s not thinking about you every moment,
but he will give you a part of him that he knows you
could break. Don’t hurt him, don’t change him, and
don’t expect for more than he can give. Don’t analyze.
Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes
you mad, and miss him when he’s not there. Love hard
when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don’t
exist, but there’s always one guy that is perfect for you.”
William Shakespeare
Bob Marley
Love is a Temporary Madness Yes, I’ll Marry You, My Dear
Louis de Bernieres Pam Ayres
Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes
and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to
make a decision. You have to work out whether your
root was so entwined together that it is inconceivable
that you should ever part. Because this is what love is.
Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not
the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. that
is just being in love, which any fool can do. Love itself is
what is left over when being in love has burned away,
and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those
that truly love have roots that grow towards each other
underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have
fallen from their branches, they find that they are one
tree and not two. Yes, I’ll marry you, my dear,
And here’s the reason why;
So I can push you out of bed
When the baby starts to cry,
And if we hear a knocking
And it’s creepy and it’s late,
I hand you the torch you see,
And you investigate.
Yes, I’ll marry you, my dear,
You may not apprehend it,
But when the tumble-drier goes
It’s you that has to mend it,
You have to face the neighbour
Should our Labrador attack him,
And if a drunkard fondles me
It’s you that has to whack him.
Yes, I’ll marry you,
You’re virile and you’re lean,
My house is like a pigsty
You can help to keep it clean.
That sexy little dinner
Which you served by candlelight,
As I do chipolatas,
You can cook it every night!
It’s you who has to work the drill
and put up curtain track,
And when I’ve got PMT it’s you who gets the flak,
I do see great advantages,
But none of them for you,
And so before you see the light,
I do, I do, I do!
www.oxfordshire.gov.uk/registration
15