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.

In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; Filths savour but themselves.

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.

Jesters do oft prove prophets.

With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out