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.
And all this day an unaccustomed spirit lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!
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.
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.
Young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
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.
You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them above a common bound.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.
Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.
O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle.
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!
Benvolio: What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Romeo: Not having that, which, having, makes them short.
Love moderately; long love doth so; too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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