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More from William Shakespeare

Leonato: O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad.

Gonzalo: Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death.

Act i. Sc. 1.

All that glisters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told;
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold.

Act II, sc. 7.

If you repay not on such a day
let the forfeit be an equal pound
of your fair flesh.

Shylock: Act 1

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.