Couldn’t have said it better myself

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate (Dante)
You are just itching to use this line.
You imagine, perhaps, a dark, dank cave, or maybe a seemingly innocuous door. And then a slight turn to your fellow spelunkers, or fellow lawyer-hopefuls, and that muttered, ominous phrase.
Most will ignore you, some will roll their eyes, and maybe one or two kindred souls will recognize your wit and reply in kind.
Your sister laughs when you voice this wish, and calls you pretentious.
You can’t help agreeing.

Come to my woman’s breasts, and unsex me here! (Shakespeare)
Once, you were shoved into your friend’s ample bosom for a class recitation.
It is not an experience you care to repeat.

O pagsintang labis ng kapangyarihan, sampung mag-ama’y iyong nasasaklaw! (Balagtas)
Of the four national texts you were mandated to study, you can only remember one stanza of the second.
(Because the one with the bird features a hero that gets it on with three sisters, the one with your name has absolutely no likeable heroine, and the sequel gets the rest killed).
It’s ironic that’s the stanza you remember; the idea of anyone shouting about “the power of love” makes your hackles raise.

I know ever so many people, and until one of them dies, I couldn’t possibly be friends with anyone else. (Charades)
You’re not the type to utter flirtatious rejoinders to straight, attractive men (the non-threatening homosexuals, though, you’re free to tease). Despite all outward appearances, you’re still that shy overweight girl who thought Prince Charmings were real, and is afraid of them morphing into misogynistic bastards.
But your stories and writings are littered with characters who whisper sweet nothings to each other under the guise of urbane wordplay.
Maybe when you’re older, and away, you can slip on a little black dress and slip into a dark crowded bar, sip on some bubbly and raise your eyes to a beautiful stranger.

Though we cannot make our sun stand still, we can yet make him run. (Marvell)
Your soul cries for adventure, for wide, open spaces. For your life to be something more than a circumscribed path to mediocrity.
And so, you do things, from time to time. Silly things. Stupid things. Once-in-a-lifetime, wow-you’re-insane, dear-lord-you’re-amazing things. Anything to alleviate the mundane.
You sometimes think, if your reckless immolation results in the utter ruin of what makes you you, you think it worth the sacrifice.