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.

I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.

RUMOUR: "Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, The which in every language I pronounce, Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.

The apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.

He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen, him not know t, and he's not robbed at all.

Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.