I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano, A stage where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one.
Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.
Ay me! for aught that ever I could read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth.
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so.
And therefore, – since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, – I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.
Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man’s son doth know.
Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head?
But I am constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.
Remember me.
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Up and down, up and down I will lead them up and down I am feared in field in town Goblin, lead them up and down.
Benvolio: What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours? Romeo: Not having that, which, having, makes them short.
The world must be peopled!
I am a man more sinned against than sinning.
Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
When you depart from me sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.
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.
I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good Friends.