Guiltiness Will Speak, Though Tongues Were Out

Romeo There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murders In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell. I Sell Thee Poison; Thou Hast Sold Me None. Farewell: Buy Food, And Get Thyself In Flesh. Come, Cordial And Not Poison, Go With Me To Juliet's Grave; For There Must I Use Thee.

I Can See He's Not In Your Good Books,' Said The Messenger. 'no, And If He Were I Would Burn My Library.

With This Special Observance, That You O'erstep Not The Modesty Of Nature. For Anything So Overdone Is From The Purpose Of Playing, Whose End, Both At The First And Now, Was And Is, To Hold, As 'twere, The Mirror Up To Nature.

Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me, The Handle Toward My Hand? Come, Let Me Clutch Thee. I Have Thee Not, And Yet I See Thee Still. Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feeling As To Sight? Or Art Thou But A Dagger Of The Mind, A False Creation, Proceeding From The Heat-oppressed Brain?

Hope Is A Lover's Staff; Walk Hence With That And Manage It Against Despairing Thoughts.