Give thy thoughts no tongue.
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 hope to see London once ere I die.
And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.
Too much to know is to know naught but fame.
Oh, I have passed a miserable night, so full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams!