Heaven give you many, many merry days.
Juliet is the east and i am the sun.
My love is thaw'd; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, bears no impression of the thing it was
You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them above a common bound.
Death-counterfeiting sleep.
Our wills and fates do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.