Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
As a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear — Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
If I profane with my unworthiest handThis holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready standTo smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Madam, your mother craves a word with you.
Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out.
O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
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 which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.