Quotes from Romeo and Juliet.\nBy William Shakespeare.\n(sourced nearly entirely from www.cc.columbia.\nedu\acis\bartlett\138.28)
The weakest goes to the wall. 
Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. 
An hour before the worshipp'd sun\nPeered forth the golden window of the east. 
As is the bud bit with an envious worm\nEre he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,\nOr dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Saint-seducing gold. 
He that is strucken blind cannot forget \nThe precious treasure of his eyesight lost. 
One fire burns out another's burning,\nOne pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory\nThat in gold clasps locks in the golden story.
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase. 
O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you!\nShe is the fairies' midwife, and she comes\nIn shape no bigger than an agate-stone \nOn the fore-finger of an alderman,\nDrawn with a team of little atomies\nAthwart men's noses as they lie asleep. 
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,\nTime out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. 
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,\nAnd then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,\nOf breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,\nOf healths five-fathom deep; and then anon\nDrums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,\nAnd being thus frighted swears a prayer or two\nAnd sleeps again. 
True, I talk of dreams,\nWhich are the children of an idle brain,\nBegot of nothing but vain fantasy. 
For you and I are past our dancing days.
Too early seen unknown, and known too late! 
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?\nIt is the east, and Juliet is the sun. 
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!\nO that I were a glove upon that hand,\nThat I might touch that cheek! 
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? 
What 's in a name? That which we call a rose\nBy any other name would smell as sweet. 
For stony limits cannot hold love out. 
Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye\nThan twenty of their swords. 
At lovers' perjuries,\nThey say, Jove laughs. 5 
Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,\nThat tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--\nJul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,\nThat monthly changes in her circled orb,\nLest that thy love prove likewise variable. 
The god of my idolatry. 
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be\nEre one can say, "It lightens." 
\nThis bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,\nMay prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. 
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,\nLike softest music to attending ears! 
Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,\nThat I shall say good night till it be morrow. 
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies 
\nIn herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:\nFor nought so vile that on the earth doth live\nBut to the earth some special good doth give,\nNor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use\nRevolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse;\nVirtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;\nAnd vice sometimes by action dignified. 
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,\nAnd where care lodges, sleep will never lie. 
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears. 
Stabbed with a white wench's black eye. 
The courageous captain of complements. 
One, two, and the third in your bosom. 
O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! 
I am the very pink of courtesy. 
A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a\nminute than he will stand to in a month
My man 's as true as steel. 6 
These violent delights have violent ends. 
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 
Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat. 
A plague o' both your houses! 
Rom: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.\nMer: No, 't is not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 't is enough, 't will serve. 
When he shall die, \nTake him and cut him out in little stars, \nAnd he will make the face of heaven so fine \nThat all the world will be in love with night,\nAnd pay no worship to the garish sun. 
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! 
Was ever book containing such vile matter\nSo fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell\nIn such a gorgeous palace! 
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe. 
They may seize\nOn the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand\nAnd steal immortal blessing from her lips,\nWho, even in pure and vestal modesty,\nStill blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
The damned use that word in hell. 
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy. 
Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day\nStands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops. 
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. 
All these woes shall serve\nFor sweet discourses in our time to come. 
Villain and he be many miles asunder. 
Thank me no thanks, nor proud me no prouds. 
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. 
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne. 
I do remember an apothecary,--\nAnd hereabouts he dwells. 
Meagre were his looks,\nSharp misery had worn him to the bones. 
A beggarly account of empty boxes. 
Famine is in thy cheeks. 
The world is not thy friend nor the world's law. 
Ap: My poverty, but not my will, consents.\nRom: I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. 
The strength\nOf twenty men. 
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book. 
Her beauty makes\nThis vault a feasting presence full of light. 
Beauty's ensign yet \nIs crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,\nAnd death's pale flag is not advanced there. 
Eyes, look your last!\nArms, take your last embrace!