Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search.

Zounds! sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you.

Patch up thine old body for heaven.

Pride went before, ambition follows him.

The rain, it raineth every day.

Oh, God! I have an ill-divining soul!

Do not plunge thyself too far in anger.