Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
Benedick: The world must be peopled!
BENEDICK: Would you buy her, that you inquire after her?
CLAUDIO: Can the world buy such a jewel?
BENEDICK: Yea, and a case to put it into.
Who having into truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,
To credit his own lie
Bassanio: Promise me life, and I’ll confess the truth.
Portia: Confess and live-
Bassanio: -Confess and love.
The quality of mercy is not strained.
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
Are you the prankish elf I’ve heard about? But those that call you by the name ‘sweet puck’? You do there work, and they shall have good luck, are you not he?
Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar!
The baby figure of the giant mass
Of things to come.
Don Pedro: I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.
Benedick: With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord. Not with love.
CLAUDIO: In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on.
Was dukedom large enough
So the may the outward shows be least themselves;
The world is still deceived with ornament.
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
An old man is twice a child.
To say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
The end crowns all,
And that old common arbitrator, Time,
Will one day end it.
Don Pedro: Will you have me, lady?
Beatrice: No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days. Your grace is too costly to wear everyday.
BENEDICK: Is’t come to this? In faith, hath not the world one man but he will wear his cap with suspicion? Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score again?
I will be correspondent to command,
And do my spiriting gently.
Let me play the fool!
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in the stones, and good in every thing.
The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.