Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.

What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off his wit!

Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.

Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as a lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion.

It is not night when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night; Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, For you in my respect are all the world: Then how can it be said I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me?