Until I truly loved, I was alone. In the end, the love you make is equal to the love you take With love’s light wings Did I o’erperch these walls, For stony limits Cannot hold love out What’s Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, Nor any other part Belonging to a man. O is some other name! What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, Were he not Romeo called Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. I count myself in nothing else so happy As in a soul remembering my good friends If love be rough with you, Be rough with love. Prick love for pricking And you beat love down. For the sweet love remembered such wealth brings,