William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 85 | Just Great DataBase

What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night so stumblest on my counsel?

For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.

Escalus, Prince of Verona. Paris, a young Nobleman, kinsman to the Prince. Montague,}Heads of two Houses at variance with each other. Capulet, } An Old Man, Uncle to Capulet. Romeo, Son to Montague. Mercutio, Kinsman to the Prince, and Friend to Romeo. Benvolio, Nephew to Montague, and Friend to Romeo. Tybalt, Nephew to Lady Capulet.

At this same ancient feast of Capulet'sSups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov'st,With all the admired beauties of Verona.Go thither, and with unattainted eye,Compare her face with some that I shall show,And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

«O! be some other name: What’s in a name? that which we call a roseBy any other name would smell as sweet;So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title.» -Act II, scene II

FRIAR LAURENCE:... O, mickle is the powerful grace that liesIn herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:For nought so vile that on the earth doth liveBut to the earth some special good doth give,Nor aught so good but strain’d from that fair useRevolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;And vice sometimes by action dignified.Within the infant rind of this small flowerPoison hath residence and medicine power:For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.Two such opposed kings encamp them stillIn man as well as herbs, grace and rude will;And where the worser is predominant,Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

Come, we burn daylight, ho!

Love is a smoke made with fume of sighs;Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;

ROMEO: Good morrow to you both. What counterfeitdid I give you?MERCUTIO: The slip, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?

وهل الحب رقيق؟ انه خشن , وقح , صاخب! وله وخز مثل الأشواك

Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave

¡Lastima del amor! A pesar de la venda que lleva, ve, aun sin ojos, la manera de lograr su proposito

A clemência seria assassina, se perdoasse os que matam.

Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, we would as willingly give cure as know.

El amor es humo hecho de vapor de suspiros; si halla consumacion, es fuego chispeante en los ojos enamorados, de lo contrario, trocase en un mar de lagrimas enamoradas

strike.

Merely, thou art death's fool,For him thou labor'st by thy flight to shun,And yet run'st toward him still.

The play's the thing.

مسكينة يا جثة بها حياة! إذ أغلقوا عليك قبر ميت!

What's yet in thisThat bears the name of life? Yet in this lifeLie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear,That makes these odds all even.