The setting sun, and the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in rememberance more than long things past.

In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond.

You have too much respect upon the world; They lose it that do buy it with much care

Thyself shall see the act; For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.

Alas, our frailty is the cause , not we! For, such as we are made of, such we be.

To persist in doing wrong extenuates not the wrong, but makes it much more heavy.

My only love sprung from my only hate.