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.
By Heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate; And with my hand I seal my true heart's love
The most peerless piece of earth, I think, that e' er the sun shone bright on.
My age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.
O that men's ears should be To counsel deaf but not to flattery!
Presume not that I am the thing I was.