Were I the Moor I would not be Iago. In following him I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so for my peculiar end. For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, ’tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at. I am not what I am

He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.

I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath; Who shuns not to break one will sure crack both.

However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.

Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.

God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.

Love that well which thou must leave ere long.