Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; I love her ten times more than e'er I did: O, how I long to have some chat with her!
Can one desire too much of a good thing?
Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.
When holy and devout religious men are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence; so sweet is zealous contemplation.
I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano!
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.