Rich Gifts Wax Poor When Givers Prove

Thou Art A Slave, Whom Fortune's Tender Arm With Favour Never Clasp'd; But Bred A Dog.

I Hold The World But As The World, Gratiano!

To Be Furious, Is To Be Frighted Out Of Fear.

There Lives Within The Very Flame Of Love A Kind Of Wick Or Snuff That Will Abate It.

Enjoy'd No Sooner But Despised Straight, Past Reason Hunted, And No Sooner Had Past Reason Hated