It is my soul that calls upon my name; How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears! -Romeo

O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh

I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.

I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.

Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.

We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels.