“But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? 
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. 
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, 
Who is already sick and pale with grief, 
That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. 
Be not her maid, since she is envious; 
Her vestal livery is but sick and green 
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
Oh, that she knew she were!”

Why?!

“Shh," he said. "Look."

"Where?"

"Can't you see'um?" he whispered. "All the Terabithians standing on tiptoe to see you."

"Me?"

"Shh, yes. There's a rumor going around that the beautiful girl arrving today might be the queen they've been waiting for.” 

“Love is always patient and kind. It is never jealous. Love is never boastful or conceited. It is never rude or selfish. It does not take offense and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people’s sins, but delights in the truth. It is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes.”