It's a poem called--
this one just has some fun with some cliches.
It's a poem-- wrong book.
Here, it's a poem called "Adage."
"Adage."
"When it's late at night and branches
are banging against the windows, you
might think that love is just a matter of leaping out
of the frying pan of yourself into the fire of someone else,
but it's a little more complicated than that.
It's more like trading two birds who
might be hiding in that bush for the one
you are not holding in your hand.
A wise man once said that love was
like forcing a horse to dream but then
everyone stopped thinking of him as wise.
Let's be clear about some things.
Love is not as simple as getting up
on the wrong side of the bed, wearing the emperor's clothes.
No, it's more like the way the pen feels after it
has defeated the sword.
It's a little like a penny saved for the nine dropped stitches.
You look at me through the halo of the last candle
and tell me that love is an old wind that
has no turning, a row that blows no good.
But I am here to remind you, as our shadows
tremble on the walls, that love is the early bird.
It was better late than never."
[APPLAUSE]