Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss, I die.
He that hath the steerage of my course direct my sail!
And when I shall die, take him and cut him up in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will fall in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.
My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me that I must love a loathed enemy.
Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say good-night till it be
Not proud you have, but thankful you have. Proud can I never be of what I hate!
I dreamt a dream tonight.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.
The world is not thy friend, nor the world’s law.
Yea, noise! Then I’ll be brief. Oh, happy dagger, this is thy sheath; there rust and let me die.
Did my heart love ’til now? Forswear its sight. For I never saw true beauty ’til this night.
Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pr!ckz like thorn.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
I am Fortune’s fool!
Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.
Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace!
If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Prick love for pricking and you beat love down.
Love give me strength.
Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath to say to me that thou art out of breath? Is the news good or bad, answer to that?