Relationships and Family

Here are a few of the unpleasant’st words That ever blotted paper.

Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply.

My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter! Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats! Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter! A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, Of double ducats, stol’n from me by my daughter!

My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter! Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats! Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter! A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, Of double ducats, stol’n from me by my daughter!

But love is blind, and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit.

A goodly apple rotten at the heart. O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

Cursed be my tribe, If I forgive him!

If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.

Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes; For treason is but trusted like the fox.

My near’st and dearest enemy.

My near’st and dearest enemy.

He was but as the cuckoo is in June, Heard, not regarded.

They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much.

I understand thy kisses and thou mine, And that’s a feeling disputation.

To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke.

For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love.

Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

These violent delights have violent ends.

These violent delights have violent ends.

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

And yet no further than a wanton’s bird, Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.

How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!