Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.

Though justice be thy plea consider this, that in the course of justice none of us should see salvation.

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain and nourish all the world.

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.

For many men that stumble at the threshold are well foretold that danger lurks within.

The miserable have no other medicine But only hope.

Never; he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies.