In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?

I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.(IAGO,ActI,SceneI)

Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire; that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.

Thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.

My love is thaw'd; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, bears no impression of the thing it was

What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living? Beatrice: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?

O sir, you are old; nature in you stands on the very verge of her confine; you should be ruled and led by some discretion, that discerns your fate better than you yourself.