How Far That Little Candle Throws Its

Fishes Live In The Sea, As Men Do A-land; The Great Ones Eat Up The Little Ones.

Nature Hath Framed Strange Fellows In Her Time.

Go Hang Yourself, You Naughty Mocking Uncle!

Why Didst Thou Promise Such A Beauteous Day And Make Me Travel Forth Without My Cloak, To Let Base Clouds O'ertake Me In My Way, Hiding They Brav'ry In Their Rotten Smoke?

Gratiano Speaks An Infinite Deal Of Nothing, More Than Any Man In All Venice. His Reasons Are As Two Grains Of Wheat Hid In Two Bushels Of Chaff: You Shall Seek All Day Ere You Find Them, And When You Have Them, They Are Not Worth The Search.