For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Love moderately; long love doth so; too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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.
The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness.
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
If music be the food of love, play on.
These violent delights have violent ends.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
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.
Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!
One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
All's well that ends well.
True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.
When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
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.
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.
where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
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.
A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
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