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Our city is full of beauty and wonder, and the eyes of my own family seem so blind to it. Not only the wonders of art and architecture, but the sunlit glory of the ladies of Verona.

And fair Rosaline would astonish even the ancient pagan goddesses with her lustre.

I write to her in secret, professing love in ever more glowing terms, but even I know that such a thing cannot be. She is too fair, and too kind, and above all, too Capulet -- hidden away, a buried treasure, but the enemy of my house for all that.

My cousin Benvolio tells me I must give her up, for the good of our house, and turn my eyes to lesser beauties. My soul burns for her, and I would reconcile myself to a life bitterly alone, but I well know my family will find a suitable girl of wealth for me to marry. As the Iron Lady reminds me almost daily, I am nothing but a tool to be used for the advancement of my house.

Benvolio has his thieving. Veronica has her scheming. I have nothing but a longing for … more.

One day, I will find it.
I love you well, Ben, but I love her more than any creature on this earth. If it were not blasphemous, I would say I love her more than God and man alike. No, I may say that. I must say it, and if God must damn me, then let it be done.
Romeo, to Benvolio