How does one measure time? No, not in day, months, or years. It is measured by the most precious of all things:: Love. Without which all beings and things whether brave and/or beautiful would perish.
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When my love swears that she is made of truth I do believe her, though I know she lies, That she might think me some untutor'd youth, Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young
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I used to think that being nice to people and feeling nice was loving people. Now I know it isn't. Love is the most immense unselfishness and it is so big I've never touched it.
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Love makes the time pass. Time makes love pass.
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Love may conquer all, but it needs time as its field general.
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The best proof of love is trust.
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Love all. Trust a few. Do wrong to none.
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