William Shakespeare

Mercutio: "If love be rough with you, be rough with love.

Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your dispositions to be married" It is an honor that I dream not of

Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

Affliction is enamoured of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.

Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.

He that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail.

One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.

One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.

How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath?

ROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee.

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

Thyself shall see the act; For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.

Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this; for it will come to pass That every braggart will be found an ass.

Romans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear.

When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo; O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear.

Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.

The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men; the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.

As many arrows, loosed several ways, come to one mark...so many a thousand actions, once afoot, end in one purpose.

True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.

Full fathom five thy father lies;_x000D_ Of his bones are coral made;_x000D_ Those are pearls that were his eyes;_x000D_ Nothing of him that doth fade,_x000D_ But doth suffer a sea-change_x000D_ Into something rich and strange._x000D_ Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:_x000D_ Ding-dong._x000D_ Hark! now I hear them — Ding-dong, bell.