RODERIGO What a full fortune does the thick lips owe, If he can carry’t thus!
Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.
Happy are those who hear their detractions and can put them to mending.
‘Tis not a year or two shows us a man.
They are all but stomachs, and we all but food;
They eat us hungerly, and when they are full,
They belch us.
You, minion, are too saucy.
There be some sports are painful, and their labour Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This
What, you egg? Young fry of treachery!
I have supped full with horrors.
I see things too, although you judge I wink.
Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-browed night;
Give me my Romeo; and, when I shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night…