I have touched the highest point of all my greatness.

He is winding the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.

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

The quality of mercy is not strained

So they loved as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distinct, divisions none.

Poor and content, is rich and rich enough; But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter, To him that ever fears he shall be poor.

What? do I love her, that I desire to hear her speak again, and feast upon her eyes