You have her father's love, Demetrius;Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.

I am glad I have found this napkin.This was her first remembrance from the Moor,My wayward husband hath a hundred timesWooed me to steal it, but she so loves the token— For he conjured her she should ever keep it— That she reserves it evermore about herTo kiss and talk to. I’ll ha’ the work ta’en out,And give’t Iago. What he will do with it,Heaven knows, not I.I nothing, but to please his fantasy.

Not tonight, good Iago. I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking. I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.

Hay más cosas en el cielo y en la tierra, Horacio, de las que han sido soñadas en tu filosofía

That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet

Were I the Moor I would not be Iago.In following him I follow but myself;Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,But seeming so for my peculiar end.For when my outward action doth demonstrateThe native act and figure of my heartIn compliment extern, ’tis not long afterBut I will wear my heart upon my sleeveFor daws to peck at. I am not what I am

Be the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it

I do desire we may be better strangers

CLEOPATRA: My salad days,When I was green in judgment: cold in blood,To say as I said then! But, come, away;Get me ink and paper:He shall have every day a several greeting,Or I'll unpeople Egypt.

My noble father,I do perceive here a divided duty.To you I am bound for life and education.My life and education both do learn meHow to respect you. You are the lord of my duty,I am hitherto your daughter. But here’s my husband,And so much duty as my mother showedTo you, preferring you before her father,So much I challenge that I may professDue to the Moor my lord.