Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?
What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?
Young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end.
O teach me how I should forget to think (1.1.224)
He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
The weakest goes to the wall.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
For you and I are past our dancing days.
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give ...
O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
Love moderately; long love doth so; too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.
One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
Mercutio: "If love be rough with you, be rough with love;
You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.
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.
All is well that ends well
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