I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest; of
most excellent fancy.

Act v. Sc. 1.

Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of
merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?

Act v. Sc. 1.

To what base uses we may return, Horatio!

Act v. Sc. 1.

Imperial Caesar, dead, and turned to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the
wind away.

Act v. Sc. 1.

Sir, though I am not splenetive and rash, Yet have I in me something
dangerous.

Act v. Sc. 1.

The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.

Act v. Sc. 2.

There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.

Act v. Sc. 2.

There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.

Act v. Sc. 2.

A hit, a very palpable hit.

* * * * *

OTHELLO.

Act i. Sc. 1.

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at.

Act i. Sc. 3.

Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors.

Act i. Sc. 3.

The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent, no more.

Act i. Sc. 3.

I will a round, unvarnished tale deliver
Of my whole course of love.

Act i. Sc. 3.

Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents, by flood and field;
Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach.

Act i. Sc. 3.

My story being done
She gave me for my pains a world of signs:
She swore, In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing; strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:
She wished she had not heard it; yet she
wished
That Heaven had made her such a man.

Act i. Sc. 3.

Upon this hint I spake.

Act i. Sc. 3.

I do perceive hero a divided duty.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

For I am nothing, if not critical.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

_Iago._ To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer.

_Des_. O most lame and impotent conclusion!

Act ii. Sc. 3.

Silence that dreadful bell; it frights the isle
From her propriety.

Act ii. Sc. 3.

O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast
no name to be known by, let us call thee devil!

Act ii. Sc. 3.

O that men should put an enemy in their
mouths, to steal away their brains!

Act iii. Sc. 3.

Perdition catch my soul,
But I do love thee! and when I love thee not,
Chaos is come again.

Act iii. Sc. 3.

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, 't