Relationships and Family

This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.

Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

It is too rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say it lightens.

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry.

Than those that have more cunning to be strange.

Romeo: Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops— Juliet: O! swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

They say, Jove laughs.

In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond.

What’s in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.

For stony limits cannot hold love out.

See! how she leans her cheek upon her hand: O! that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek.

O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? 12 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.

He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!

My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late!

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

A pair of star-cross’d lovers.

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve; Lovers, to bed; ’tis almost fairy time.

Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, But yet an union in partition; Two lovely berries molded on one stem.

Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, But yet an union in partition; Two lovely berries molded on one stem.

And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound, And maidens call it, Love-in-idleness.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind. 9

Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth.

Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth.

So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve, Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none. God save the king! Will no man say, amen?