The present eye praises the present object.
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law. - Romeo
O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
As chaste as unsunned snow.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.