But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! Oh, that she knew she were!

By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.

So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend: thy love ne'er alter, till they sweet life end

Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. Then your love would also change.

Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.

so full of shapes is fancy

All difficulties are easy when they are known.