My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege; The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
The soul of this man is his clothes.
The good I stand on is my truth and honesty.
Men in rage strike those that wish them best.