JULIET: Are you gone like that, my love, my lord? I must hear from you every day on the hour. In a minute there are many days.
Oh, by this count I'll be many years older before I see my Romeo again.
ROMEO: Farewell! I'll take every chance I can to send my love to you!
JULIET: Oh, do you think we'll ever meet again?
ROMEO: I have no doubt—and all these troubles will make for sweet stories in the years to come.
JULIET: Oh God, my soul predicts evil things! I think I see you now, so low beneath me like someone dead in the bottom of a tomb! Either my eyesight fails me, or you look pale.
ROMEO: And trust me, my love, you look the same to me. Sorrow drains us of our color.