Mercutio Quotes

I am not a saint, but I have the grace of a sinner.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.

Why, then, is my pump well-flowered.

True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain.

Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.

If love be rough with you, be rough with love.

Give me a case to put my visage in.

I conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes.

She is the fairies’ midwife.

I talk of dreams, which are a representation of the truth.

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.

Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in.

I have it, and soundly, too.

I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.

O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.

Prick love for pricking and you beat love down.

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

Why, may one ask?

That dreamers often lie.

Nay, I’ll conjure too.

True, I talk of dreams.

Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan’s the fairer face.

Thou art like one of those fellows that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table and says ‘God send me no need of thee!’ and by the operation of the second cup draws it on the drawer when indeed there is no need.

More than prince of cats, I can tell you.

I am for you.

To dance a galliard.

Her wit makes wise things foolish. Her eyes are never in her heart, but in her head.

I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy.

O Romeo, that she were, O that she were an open et caetera, thou a poperin pear!

You shall tickle your gentility.

The slippery pavement of hell.

That in this spleen ridiculous appears to others.

A gentleman Nurse.

That same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline.

Never tire, be with me.

If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Prick love for pricking and you beat love down.

By my fay, it waxes late. I’ll to my rest.

I will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.

I see Queen Mab hath been with you.

I do but keep the peace.

True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain.

What hast thou found?

If love be rough with you, then be rough with love.

They have made worms’ meat of me.

Bid a sick man in sadness make his will.

An we mean well in going to this mask, but ’tis no wit to go.

I must conjure him.

When, good manners shall lie all in one or two men’s hands and they unwashed, too, ’tis a foul thing.

Good Peter, to hide her face, for her fan’s the fairer face.