Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
Claudio: Friendship is constant in all other things, save in the office and affairs of love.
BEATRICE: No, not till a hot January.
Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar
That beasts shall tremble at thy din.
The villany you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction.
My age is as a lusty winter, frosty, but kindly.
I hold ambition of so light a quality that it is but a shadow’s shadow.
My salad days, when I was green in judgement, cold in blood.
Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
Men were deceivers ever.
One foot in sea and one on shore,
to one thing constant never.
Then sigh not so but let them go
and be you blithe and bonny,
converting all your sounds of woe
into hey nonny nonny.
BENEDICK: What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?
BEATRICE: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.
There’s nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:
If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with’t.
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?
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their enterances,
And one man in his time plays many parts.
To sleep, perchance to dream.
Ambition, the soldier’s virtue, rather makes choice of loss, than gain which darkens him.
I was adored once too.
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.