For you and I are past our dancing days.
He hath eaten me out of house and home.
A man I am cross'd with adversity.
Every subject's duty is the Kings, but every subject's soul is his own.
O comfort-killing night, image of hell, Dim register and notary of shame, Black stage for tragedies and murders fell, Vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame!
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.