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she shall scant show well that now shows best.
Sep 17, 2025
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
I'll look to like; if looking, liking move.
I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
Love moderately; long love doth so; too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
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.
My only love sprung from my only hate.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.
These violent delights have violent ends.
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 -
Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
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.
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. . . .
The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
What light through yonder window breaks?
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
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.
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?
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