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: Reputation, reputation, reputation! I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago! My reputation.
: Come, lieutenant, a stoup of wine. Here are a brace of gallants that would fain have a measure to the health of black Othello. Cassio
: Not tonight, good Iago. I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking. Iago
: Oh, just one cup.
: Our general cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona. He hath not yet made wanton the night with her, and she is sport for Jove. Cassio
: She's a most exquisite lady. Iago
: And, full of game, I warrant. What an eye she has - to provocation. Cassio
: I and yet I think right modest. Iago
: Well, happiness to their sheets.