Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.

Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.(IAGO,ActI,SceneI)

Small things make base men proud.

All pride is willing pride.

The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure.

To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars.