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Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
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, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
What's in a name? That which we call a rose, By any other word would smell as sweet.
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
Good-night, good-night! Parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say good-night till it be morrow.
