Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.
A sad tale's best for winter. I have one of sprites and goblins.
O, call back yesterday, bid time return
Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.