Now I will believe that there are unicorns.

At Christmas, I no more desire a rose.

You know who you are, but know not who you could be.

How well he's read, to reason against reading!

...Vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship.

Constant you are, But yet a woman; and for secrecy, No lady closer; for I well believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.

Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.