Julius Caesar Quotes

The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones;

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. [Act 1 Sc. 2]

There is a tide in the affairs of men. Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

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.

Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!

Of all the wonders that I have heard,It seems to me most strange that men should fear;Seeing death, a necessary end,Will come when it will come.(Act II, Scene 2)

Beware the ides of March.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.

A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once. It seems to me most strange that men should fear, seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.

There is a tide in the affairs of menWhich, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;Omitted, all the voyage of their lifeIs bound in shallows and in miseries.On such a full sea are we now afloat;And we must take the current when it serves,Or lose our ventures.

The evil that men do lives after them;The good is oft interred with their bones.

His life was gentle; and the elementsSo mixed in him, that Nature might stand upAnd say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!

There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the floud, leads on to fortune ommitted, all the voyage of their livesare bound in shallows and in miseries

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars/ But in ourselves.

Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come

There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.

Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.

And since you know you cannot see yourself,so well as by reflection, I, your glass,will modestly discover to yourself,that of yourself which you yet know not of.

But I am constant as the Northern Star,Of whose true fixed and resting qualityThere is no fellow in the firmament.

Let me have men about me that are fat... Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

As I love the name of honour more than I fear death.

Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.

And Caesar's spirit, raging for revenge,With Ate by his side come hot from hell,Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war,That this foul deed shall smell above the earthWith carrion men, groaning for burial.

What a terrible era in which idiots govern the blind.

The ides of March are come.Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; but not gone.

As he was valiant, I honor him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.

And it is very much lamented,...That you have no such mirrors as will turnYour hidden worthiness into your eyeThat you might see your shadow.

I have not slept.Between the acting of a dreadful thingAnd the first motion, all the interim isLike a phantasma, or a hideous dream:The Genius and the mortal instrumentsAre then in council; and the state of man,Like to a little kingdom, suffers thenThe nature of an insurrection.

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!

This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,Which gives men stomach to digest his wordsWith better appetite.

He reads much;He is a great observer and he looksQuite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays,As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music;Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sortAs if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spiritThat could be moved to smile at any thing.Such men as he be never at heart's easeWhiles they behold a greater than themselves,And therefore are they very dangerous.

No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself,But by reflection, by some other things.

I was born free as Caesar; so were you

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;He thinks too much: such men are dangerous

And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.

But, for my own part, it was Greek to me.

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,To stir men’s blood: I only speak right on;I tell you that which you yourselves do know;

I could be well moved, if I were as you;If I could pray to move, prayers would move me:But I am constant as the northern star,Of whose true-fix'd and resting qualityThere is no fellow in the firmament.

O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !

Danger knows full well that Caesar is more dangerous than he. We are two lions litter’d in one day, and I the elder and more terrible.

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.The evil that men do lives after them;The good is oft interred with their bones

...for the eye sees not itself,but by reflection, by some other things.

Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,That you would have me seek into myselfFor that which is not in me?

But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow worldLike a Colossus, and we petty menWalk under his huge legs and peep aboutTo find ourselves dishonorable graves.Men at some time are masters of their fates.The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our starsBut in ourselves, that we are underlings.

But 'tis common proof, that lowliness is young ambition's ladder, whereto the climber-upward turns his face; but when he once attains the upmost round, he then turns his back, looks in the clouds, scorning the vase defrees by which he did ascend.

How many ages henceShall this our lofty scene be acted over,In states unborn and accents yet unknown!

I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much, He is a great observer, and he looks Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays As thou dost, Anthony; he heard no music; Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mocked himself and scorned his spirit That could be moved to smile at anything. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous.