Merchant Of Venice

Antonio:
In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:
It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn;And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

Shylock:
If you prick us, do we not bleed?
if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison
us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not
revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will
resemble you in that. 

Portia:The quality of mercy is not strained;It droppeth as the gentle rain from HeavenUpon the place beneath. It is twice blest—It blesseth him that gives and him that takes