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Benvolio: What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Romeo: Not having that, which, having, makes them short.
Sep 28, 2025
What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?
Hannakins: I know you guys are living out your own private Romeo and Juliet love story, but remember: Both of them die in Act V. -A
Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.
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.
They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
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
A gentleman that loves to hear himself talk, will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.
Young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Out of her favour, where I am in love.
where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond.
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.
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
You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them above a common bound.
These violent delights have violent ends.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears; what is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
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 -
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
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.
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.
I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
For you and I are past our dancing days.
There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
It is my soul that calls upon my name; How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears! -Romeo
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!
The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness.
If music be the food of love, play on.
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.
Two households, both alike in dignity In fair Verona, where we lay our scene From ancient grudge break to new mutiny Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
My love is deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
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.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
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.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
The course of true love never did run smooth.
All's well that ends well.