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 -
My love is deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.
My only love sprung from my only hate.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears; what is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
Out of her favour, where I am in love.
Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.
It is my soul that calls upon my name; How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears! -Romeo
Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?
A gentleman that loves to hear himself talk, will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
Speak low, if you speak love.
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
For you and I are past our dancing days.
They may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand
And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
All's well that ends well.
What light through yonder window breaks?
Mercutio: "If love be rough with you, be rough with love.
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