Shakespeare's Sonnet 112

Your love and pity doth the impression fill,Which vulgar scandal stamp’d upon my brow;For what care I who calls me well or ill,So you o’er-green my bad, my good allow?You are my all-the-world, and I must striveTo know my shames and praises from your tongue;None else to me, nor I to none alive,That my steel’d sense or changes right or wrong.In so profound abysm I throw all careOf others’ voices, that my adder’s senseTo critic and to flatterer stopped are.Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:You are so strongly in my purpose bred,That all the world besides methinks are dead.

Your love and pity fill in the mark that vulgar gossip stamped on my forehead. For why should I care who speaks well or badly of me, as long as you cover my faults with fresh growth and approve of my goodness? You are my whole world, and I must seek the judgment of my faults and merits from your lips. No one else matters to me, nor I to anyone else alive, whose judgment, right or wrong, could change my hardened feelings. I throw all concern for other people’s opinions into such a deep pit that my ears are shut like a deaf snake’s to critics and flatterers alike. Notice how completely I disregard them: you are so firmly rooted in my thoughts that everyone else in the world seems dead to me.