Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clangin cymbal.

And though I have the gift of prophecy, and the understanding all my misteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could I remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.

Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up;

Does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil;

Does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth;

Bears all things, believe that things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails.

摘自新约哥林多前书13章4－8节