Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm

For I can raise no money by vile means.

Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.

Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.

You cannot call it love, for at your age the heyday in the blood is tame