Benvolio By giving liberty unto thine eyes, Examine other beauties. Romeo 'Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows, Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair. Read more about Act 1, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: Black Masks
Benvolio Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? Romeo She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, For beauty starved with her severity Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair. She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now. Read more about Act 1, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: Cultural Reference
Romeo Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs — Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears. Read more about Act 1, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "Love is a smoke"
Romeo What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet. Read more about Act 1, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: Proverbs, Opposites
Romeo Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love, O loving hate, O anything of nothing first created, O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep that is not what it is. This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Read more about Act 1, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: Contradictions
Romeo Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep that is not what it is. This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Read more about Act 1, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "this", "love", "feel"
Romeo Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love, O loving hate, O anything of nothing first created, O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep that is not what it is. This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Read more about Act 1, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: Language
Montague As is the bud bit with an envious worm Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure as know. Read more about Act 1, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: As is the bud bit with the envious worm
Benvolio Madam, an hour before the worshipped sun Peered forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drive me to walk abroad, Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from this city side, So early walking did I see your son. Read more about Act 1, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: Imagery
