[Declaración furiosamente enamorada]

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou are more lovely and more temperate:
rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
and summer's lease hath all too short a date;

sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
and often is his gold complexion dimmed;
and every fair from fair sometime declines,
by chance or nature's changing course untrimmed.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade
nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
when in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
so longo lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Este, el XVIII soneto de William Shakespeare, va dedicado a mi propio y amado Orlando, no el Orlando furioso de un poeta italiano del siglo XV, ni el Orlando enamorado parodiado por Quevedo, no: sino el mío, mi propio, bello, culto, inteligente, y... Orlando. Tuyo es todo mi amor. Mío es todo goce tuyo.

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¡Yes! ¡I'm falling in love again! ¡Yupi!