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 proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Benedikt von Nursia 
Nordische Sagen 
Miguel de Cervantes
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe