But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.

To hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature.

O Lord that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!

Virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that amends is but patched with virtue.

You lack the season of all natures, sleep.

Unsubstantial Death is amorous.

ROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee.