Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
What light through yonder window breaks?
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
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.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
My only love sprung from my only hate.
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.
For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!
Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
These violent delights have violent ends.
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. . . .
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
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 -
One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.