The last taste of sweets is sweetest last.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge.

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, to love that well which thou must leave ere long

What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no.

So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine, Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still.

As many arrows, loosed several ways, come to one mark...so many a thousand actions, once afoot, end in one purpose.