Desire of having is the sin of covetousness.
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.
My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.
Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both.
To whom God will, there be the victory.