[I]f you love him not, then you can love me, and, therefore, can come to please yourself, willy-nilly. What! am I to be thwarted in such a trifle? Willy-nilly, I say, I will marry thee. Come—we waste the time.

Will you take a varder at the cartz on the feely-omi in the naf strides: the one with the bona blue ogles polarying the omi-palone with a vogue on and a cod sheitel.

Emolliated by four centuries of Roman domination, the Belgic colonies had forgotten their pristine valour.

Ah, anchovies - the marmite of the marine world. Personally, I love them, at least on pizzas.