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Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.

Updated on September 13, 2014

Sonnet 138

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,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

--William Shakespeare

So many feels...

Ugh, this gets to me all the time. Being at the young age of 20, I'll have the barrage of comments that I have not experienced love yet and blah blah blah. But I'll tell you what, I've had my roller coasters of emotions and plenty have been in love. Ha.. You ever get that feeling when you step on to the roller coaster and you're so excited, and the adrenaline is coursing through your veins? And then when the ride finally begins, you've decided that this is probably the worst decision you've ever made in your life and all you want to do is get off. You close your eyes in horror as the ride reaches it's 50+ feet drop, then it drops and completely spirals out of control, flipping and twist-turning you upside down. It slowly comes to a stop and you wobble out of the car, clutching your chest and stomach. Mhm, been there done that.

But anyway, let's get to the poem;

"When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies…"

What a way to start. So many times we've seen it in the movies, with loved ones, even with ourselves-- doing everything possible to get and keep the person you've set your sights on. Men and women will do just about anything to feel wanted and to share a mutual love for each other. Lying is the conniving tool we use. Obvious or not, we choose to ignore it to an extent and become blissfully unaware of anything other than that person.

"That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties."

I feel like, even though we know we're lying, we assume the other person won't catch on or find out about it; or simply ignorant of the deceit of the world. So we blindly go through our life telling lies, hoping that we can remember all of them and most importantly, hoping no one see through them. The truth can is seen as ugly, but I feel like it is necessary for everything even throughout the pain. Until you've bared yourself naked to someone else, how can you claim to love all of them? How can you feel so utterly free without doing so? It's such a freeing moment. I understand that there are things that everyone is ashamed of, regret, and would rather not tell anyone. If that's the case, fine, but at least be honest with yourself about it and please don't bury it deep down inside. Everything we suppress has its way of making itself come back up, rather unpleasantly and always at the wrong time. It's so hard to be honest with yourself first, not to mention another person. But if they love you after that, then you've definitely found your soulmate because it's arguably the hardest thing to find in this world. If someone can't handle your honesty, they weren't meant to be in your life. I find it as simple as that. Among all the lies of the world, everyone deserves honesty from our spouses, families, friends. It's a shame it's all so corrupt.


"Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed."

No one was born just yesterday (unless you were, then happy birthday little baby!), but we treat people like they were all the time. Why? This is something I will never understand, and I find myself doing it sometimes too! It's such a strange feeling when you realize what you're doing and how you're doing it. But time and again, we give people the benefit of the doubt and believe what they say, either because we're a tad oblivious or both are subconsciously hiding the ugly truth. Which, by the way, shouldn't be viewed as ugly. I think honesty has its own beauty, and that you can't have happiness and love if you've never experienced pain and sadness. I find those that don't like honesty, have too much to hide themselves. (And I don't mean be rude and speak what comes straight to your mind, I talk about the genuine honesty when confronted with a question or opinion and such). I know for a while there, mostly throughout middle and high school, I was behind a barrier of lies. No one really knew me, and it was a very lonely time in my life. All those years, and all those repressed emotions, I finally broke down in my Creative Writing class and just cried. I couldn't even tell what was making me feel this way, it was just an overwhelming deluge of feelings and emotions that I thought I could run away from. It took a long time, but I had to be really honest with myself and start to let people know about who I really was. I made some great friends my senior year, but we all drift apart as time tends to do with some people.


"But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust…"

Why can't we just own up to the truth? Why do we always feel the need to hide behind a lie, even though the truth is really not as bad as we make it seem. Honestly, honesty is quite an attractive trait, I think. But I love this last line, "O, love's best habit is in seeming trust…" Because I think it captures what love has become, a disguise in the pretense of truth. Why does our ego get in the way of everything? Haha.. Why do we have to feel like we are the best and always right? Humans are strange creatures.


"And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be."

In summary, the lies we tell each other help us forget our own faults. Such a painful statement/realization.

Shakespeare's Biography

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