Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. —Where be your gibes now? Your gambols?
Chicks dig Shakespeare.
I'm just practicing for when I do this with Snoke's head.
A certain girl is going to love it!
But she is nobody you know.
She's from nowhere.