Juliet

And when I shall die, take him and cut him up in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will fall in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.

Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

Then have my lips the sin that they have took?

You kiss by the book.

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.

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.

'Tis but thy name that is my enemy, thou art thyself though not a Montague. What is Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. Oh, what's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection to which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name! And for thy name, which is no part of thee, take all myself.

Goodnight, goodnight! Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.

O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, who monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Do not swear at all. Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry, and I'll believe thee.

How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath to say to me that thou art out of breath? Is the news good or bad, answer to that.

Be not so long to speak; I long to die!

Romeo, what's here? Poison? Drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after?

Not proud you have, but thankful you have. Proud can I never be of what I hate!

If they do see thee they will murder thee.

What sayest thou? Hast though not a word of joy? Some comfort, Nurse.

You kiss by the book.