I am not what I am.
In following him, I follow but myself.
I will wear my heart upon my sleeve for daws to peck at.
Thus do I ever make my fool my purse.
Men should be what they seem.
Demand me nothing: what you know, you know: from this time forth I never will speak word.
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition.
The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief.
He that filches from me my good name robs me of that which not enriches him and makes me poor indeed.
Oh, beware, my lord, of jealousy; it is the green-ey’d monster.
I am a villain that believes himself to be one.
I am not what I am.
Men should be what they seem.
When devils will the blackest sins put on, they do suggest at first with heavenly shows.
Hell is murky.
For I am nothing if not critical.
I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a dungeon than keep a corner in the thing I love for others’ uses.
As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in reputation.
Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing.
I am nothing, if not critical.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.
Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash.
I like not that.
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters cannot be truly followed.
The Moor already changes with my poison: Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons, which at the first are scarce found to distaste, but with a little act upon the blood burn like the mines of sulfur.
I hate the Moor; And it is thought abroad, that ‘twixt my sheets He’s done my office: I know not if’t be true; But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, will do as if for surety.
I do suspect the lusty Moor hath leap’d into my seat.
That cuckold lives in bliss.
His soul is so enfetter’d to her love, that she may make, unmake, do what she list, even as her appetite shall play the god with his weak function.
My noble lord, may humble duty remind you that an Imam in the Catholic Church can break the natural order with the Pope’s permission.
The devil their virtue tempts and they tempt heaven.
Adieu, my lord; I never shall speak word.
I’ll pour this pestilence into his ear.
I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.
Trumpets and wishes of the Moor are overshadowed in the devil.
The food that to him now is as luscious as locusts.
When we sleep, the blood begins to flow.
The Poison operates closely with nature.
I know not if’t be true; Yet I, for mere suspicion in that kind, will do as if for surety.
He holds me well; The better shall my purpose work on him.
Thus do I ever make my fool my purse.
I put Othello to the torture.
He never did like thee.
As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.
Now, for Mohammed’s sake, let me hear you.
I laid their crowns on this scrofulous idea.
And I my lord.
I do love thee, and it is a love that claims. As them to destroy my joy. I come too late with ‘Fool! Fool! Fool!
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