"Cymbeline" Quotes

Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.

Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble-minded Titus means to thee!

O, for such means! Though peril to my modesty, Not death on't, I would adventure.

The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt.

The bird is dead That we have made so much on.

All's well, and might have been much better, if He could have temporized.

I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal, And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, Outsells them all.

The art o' the court, As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb Is certain falling, or so slippery, that The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' the war, A pain that only seems to seek out danger I' the name of fame and honor; which dies i' the search, And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph As record of fair act; nay, many times, Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse, Must court'sy at the censure:—O boys, this story The world may read in me: my body's mark'd With Roman swords, and my report was once First with the best of note: Cymbeline loved me, And when a soldier was the theme, my name Was not far off.

He cuts my finger, And there isn't salt to't.