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| What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word As I hate Hell, all Montagues, and thee. (I.i,77-78) |
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| If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of peace. (I.i,103-104) |
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| For my mind misgives Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels, and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. (I.v,106-111) |
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| You will set a cock-a-hoop! You'll be the man! (I.v,84) |
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| Oh, dear account! My life is my foe's debt. (I.v,120) |
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| But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! (II.ii,2-3) |
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| O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? (II.ii,33) |
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| That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet. (II.ii,43-44) |
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| Parting is such sweet sorrow (II.ii,184) |
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| I have forgot that name and that name's woe. (II.iii,46) |
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| In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households' rancor to pure love. (II.iii,90-93) |
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| Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead Stabbed with a white wench's black eye, shot through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bowboy's butt shaft. (II.iv,12-16) |
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| These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die, like fire and powder Which as they kiss consume. (II.iv,9-11) |
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| I do protest I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise Till thou shalt know the reason of my love. (III.i,71-72) |
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| A plague o' both your houses! (III.i,111) |
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| Oh, I am fortune's fool! (III.i,141) |
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| Ah, welladay! He's dead, he's dead, he's dead. We are undone, lady, we are undone. Alack the day! He's gone, he's killed, he's dead. (III.ii,36-38) |
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| Wash they his wounds with tears. Mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. (III.ii,130-131) |
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| Affliction is enamored of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. (III.iii,2-3) |
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| Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. (III.v,9-11) |
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| Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit. (III.v,73-74) |
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| Graze where you will, you shall not house with me. (III.v,190) |
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| Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. (III.v,201-203) |
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| My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come vial. (IV.iii,19-20) |
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| I dreamed my lady came and found me dead -- (V.i,6) |
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| Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man. Fly hence and leave me. (V.iii,59-60) |
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| Capulet! Montague! See what a scourge is laid upon your hate That Heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! And I, for winking at your discords too, Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punished. (V.iii,291-295) |
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