Do all men kill the things they do not love ............ The quality of mercy is not strain'd It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest It blesseth him that gives and him that takes
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
My age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.
If money go before, all ways do lie open.
I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
I am a kind of burr; I shall stick.