The only spot you should sit is next to me, you wrote.

True, I talk of dreams,

Which are the children of an idle brain,
begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
which is as thin of substance as the air
and more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And being angered, puffs away from thence, 

Turning his face to the dew-dropping south, 

- Romeo and Juliet (Act 1, Scene 4)