All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told.

Why, friends, you go to do you know not what: Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves? Alas, you know not: I must tell you then: You have forgot the will I told you of. . . . . Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. To every Roman citizen he gives, To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. . . . . Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, His private arbours and new-planted orchards, On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, And to your heirs for ever, common pleasures, To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. Here was a Caesar! when comes such another?

Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more.

The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart-see, they bark at me.

Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel; then what should war be?

Bassanio: Do all men kill all the things they do not love? Shylock: Hates any man the thing he would not kill? Bassanio: Every offence is not a hate at first.

She will die if you love her not, And she will die ere she might make her love known