My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.
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.
It is a foolish man who thinks that love can be held in a jar or measured on a scale.
My heart is like a bird, flying high on the wings of love.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Love is a gentle breeze that sweeps away all troubles and worries.
O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb.
Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.
Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books; But love from love, towards school with heavy looks.
My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.
If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!
Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-browed night; Give me my Romeo.
Give me my Romeo; and, 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.
I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.
My love is deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!
Love is a gentle breeze that sweeps away all troubles and worries.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.
O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb.
Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-browed night; Give me my Romeo.
Give me my Romeo; and, 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.
I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.
My love is deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!
Love is a gentle breeze that sweeps away all troubles and worries.
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