A sad tale's best for winter. I have one of sprites and goblins.
We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from th' entire point.
Foul whisp'rings are abroad.
There is nothing so confining as the prisons of our own perceptions.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume