Thou Shouldst Not Have Been Old Till

Sorrow Breaks Seasons And Reposing Hours, Makes The Night Morning, And The Noontide Night.

She Is Mine Own, And I As Rich In Having Such A Jewel As Twenty Seas, If All Their Sand Were Pearl, The Water Nectar, And The Rocks Pure Gold.

For Mercutio's Soul Is But A Little Way Above Our Heads, Staying For Thine To Keep Him Company: Either Thou, Or I, Or Both, Must Go With Him.

No Profit Grows Where No Pleasure Is Taken.

Conscience Is A Thousand Swords.