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she shall scant show well that now shows best.
Sep 18, 2025
O teach me how I should forget to think (1.1.224)
for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.
Benvolio: What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Romeo: Not having that, which, having, makes them short.
What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?
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.
For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
Not proud you have, but thankful that you have. Proud can I never be of what I hate, but thankful even for hate that is meant love.
Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.
Benvolio- "By my head, here come the Capulets." Mercutio- "By my heel, I care not.
Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven
O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle.
Young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Out of her favour, where I am in love.
This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end.
where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. . . . She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomi Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep.
O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
it is my lady! *sighs* o, it is my love! o, that she knew she were! she speaks, yet she sais nothing. what of that? her eye discourses; i will answer it. i am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks; two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
Death lies on her like an untimely frost.
You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.
You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them above a common bound.
you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois'd with herself in either eye; But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now seems best.
I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
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 -
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Look, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east! Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tip-toe on the misty mountain-tops.
Yeah? Okay," she said, staring up into the stars. "Let's see. You know how, at the end of Romeo and Juliet, Juliet wakes up in the crypt and Romeo's already dead? He thought she was dead so he killed himself right next to her?" "Yeah. That was awesome." A pause, followed by "Ow," suggested elbow punctuation on the part of Mik. Karou ignored it. "Well, imagine if she woke up and he was still alive, but..." She swallowed, waiting out a tremor in her voice. "But he had killed her whole family. And burned her city. And killed and enslaved her people.
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath?
True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds That sees into the bottom of my grief? O sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week, Or if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law. - Romeo
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.
O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
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. . . .
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. 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. Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! Oh, that she knew she were!
One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.
My love is deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.
The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.
Nor aught so good but strained from that fair use, Revolts from true birth stumbling on abuse.
All's well that ends well.