Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
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. . . .
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified.
These violent delights have violent ends.
What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
Two households, both alike in dignity In fair Verona, where we lay our scene From ancient grudge break to new mutiny Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
My only love sprung from my only hate.
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love... 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.
where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?
Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. . . . She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomi Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep.
One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
Nor aught so good but strained from that fair use, Revolts from true birth stumbling on abuse.
Love moderately; long love doth so; too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.
O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. - Romeo -
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