Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
What is honour? A word. What is that word, honour? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died o’ Wednesday.
Beatrice: Against my will, I am sent to bid you come into dinner.
Benedick: Fair Beatrice, thank you for your pains.
Beatrice: I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me. If it had been painful, I would not have come.
Benedick: You take pleasure then in the message?
Beatrice: Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife’s point. You have no stomach, signor? Fare you well.
Benedick: Ha! “Against my will I am sent to bid you come into dinner.” There’s a double meaning in that.
BENEDICK: Why, i’ faith, methinks she’s too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little for a great praise: only this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I do not like her.
Gonzalo: Here is everything advantageous to life.
Antonio: True; save means to live.
I’ll not be made a soft and dull eyed fool!
Kindness, nobler ever than revenge.
To-morrow is Saint Valentine’s day,
All in the morning betime.
Thou hast nor youth nor age, but, as it were, an after-diner’s sleep, dreaming on both.
You shall more command with years that with your weapons.
As many arrows, loosed several ways, come to one mark … so may a thousand actions, once afoot, end in one purpose.
Beatrice: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
BENEDICK: That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks: but that I will have a recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon me.
misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows
The pound of flesh that I demand of him
Is dearly bought.
Your ‘if’ is the only peace-maker;
much virtue in ‘if.’
This above all: to thine own self be true
O, what may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!
Men should be what they seem,
Or those that be not,
Would they might seem none!
Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, for wise men say it is the wisest course.
Dogberry: Thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this.
Don Pedro: Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.
Leonato: Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your grace: for trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.
Ferdinand: here’s my hand.
Miranda: And mine, with my heart in’t
Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
If thou remember’st not the slighest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not lov’d