I Also Love Disney, And

A Rose By Any Other Name Would Get The Blame For Being What It Is-- The Colour Of A Kiss, The Shadow Of A Flame. A Rose May Earn Another Name, So Call It Love; So Call It Love I Will, And Love Is Like The Sea, Which Changes Constantly, And Yet Is Still The Same.

Are Not All Loves Secretly The Same? A Hundred Flowers Sprung From A Single Root.

I'm Not Very Good At Being Alive. Sometimes I Despair Of Ever Mastering It, Getting It Right. When I'm Old, Perhaps.

He Sat By Her, Watching Every Gesture She Made, As If He Would Paint Her Portrait Afterward.

Oh, Love. Love Is Best Of All. There Is No Such Total Element, Not Even Pain. Who Has Ever Loved, Knows This. I Need Not Say More.