“Twas a clever quibble. Here, a garment for it.”

“Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb.”

“This to hearWould Desdemona seriously incline:But still the house-affairs would draw her thence:Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,She'ld come again, and with a greedy earDevour up my discourse: which I observing,Took once a pliant hour, and found good meansTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heartThat I would all my pilgrimage dilate,Whereof by parcels she had something heard,But not intentively: I did consent,And often did beguile her of her tears,When I did speak of some distressful strokeThat my youth suffer'd. My story being done,She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange,'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'dThat heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me,And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,I should but teach him how to tell my story.And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,And I loved her that she did pity them.This only is the witchcraft I have used:Here comes the lady; let her witness it.”

“Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,Is the immediate jewel of their souls:Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing;’twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands;But he that filches from me my good nameRobs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.”

“Grief fills the room up of my absent child,Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words,Remembers me of his gracious parts,Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form”

“Look here upon this picture, and on this...”

“Here lies awretched corse, of wretched soul bereft:Seek not my name: a plague consume you wickedcaitiffs left!Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate:Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and staynot here thy gait.”