Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.

O mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts of desperate men!

There is nothing so confining as the prisons of our own perceptions.

We make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villians by compulsion.

One whom the music of his own vain tongue doth ravish like enchanting harmony.

So they loved as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distinct, divisions none.

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?