Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?
The last taste of sweets is sweetest last.
Every why has a wherefore.
Ingratitude is monstrous.
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, and clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter, I am your's for ever!
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color.