O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father refuse thy name, thou art thyself thou not a montegue, what is montegue? tis nor hand nor foot nor any other part belonging to a man What is in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, So Romeo would were he not Romeo called retain such dear perfection to which he owes without that title, Romeo, Doth thy name! And for that name which is no part of thee, take all thyself.

All the world is a stage and we are merely players.

The instruments of darkness tell us truths.

A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder.

Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!

Such antics do not amount to a man.

I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.