Scorn, at first, makes after-love the more.

O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!

Good words are better than bad strokes.

Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.

Alas, how love can trifle with itself!

Benvolio- "By my head, here come the Capulets." Mercutio- "By my heel, I care not.

But like of each thing that in season grows.