Bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest.

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine is a sad one

I understand a fury in your words,
But not the words.

The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre
Observe degree, priority and place.

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?

'Tis best to weigh The enemy more mighty than he seems