Benvolio: What Sadness Lengthens Romeo's Hours? Romeo:

Tongues I'll Hang On Every Tree That Shall Civil Sayings Show. . . .

Why, What's The Matter, That You Have Such A February Face, So Full Of Frost, Of Storm And Cloudiness?

Love All, Trust A Few, Do Wrong To None: Be Able For Thine Enemy Rather In Power Than Use; And Keep Thy Friend Under Thy Own Life's Key: Be Check'd For Silence, But Never Tax'd For Speech.

These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends And In Their Triumph Die, Like Fire And Powder, Which As They Kiss Consume. The Sweetest Honey Is Loathsome In His Own Deliciousness And In The Taste Confounds The Appetite. Therefore Love Moderately; Long Love Doth So; Too Swift Arrives As Tardy As Too Slow.

He Receives Comfort Like Cold Porridge.