What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
What light through yonder window breaks?
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
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.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!
For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
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.
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
My love is deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.
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 -
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. . . .
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. 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. Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! Oh, that she knew she were!
All is well that ends well
The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.
All's well that ends well.
or simply:
