This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
Remembrance of things past.
When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.
For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.
Can one desire too much of a good thing?
My language! heavens!I am the best of them that speak this speech. Were I but where 'tis spoken.