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?
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.
For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
My only love sprung from my only hate.
Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
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!
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.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
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. . . .
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 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.
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.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.
or simply:
