Twelfth Night Quotes

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Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them.

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If music be the food of love, play on. 1 Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, 2 The appetite may sicken and so die. 3 That strain again! It

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She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm 'i th' bud, feed on her damask cheek. She pinned in thought; and, with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more; but indeed our shows are more than will; for we still prove much in our vows but little in our love.

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This fellow is wise enough to play the fool;And to do that well craves a kind of wit:He must observe their mood on whom he jests,The quality of persons, and the time,And, like the haggard, check at every featherThat comes before his eye. This is a practiseAs full of labour as a wise man's artFor folly that he wisely shows is fit;But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.

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In nature there's no blemish but the mind.None can be called deformed but the unkind.

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Come away, come away, Death,And in sad cypress let me be laid;Fly away, fly away, breath,I am slain by a fair cruel maid.My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it!My part of death no one so true did share it.Not a flower, not a flower sweet,On my black coffin let there be strewn:Not a friend, not a friend greetMy poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown.A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O whereSad true lover never find my grave, to weep there!

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But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds [vows] disgraced them."Viola: "Thy reason, man?"Feste: "Troth [Truthfully], sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false, I am loathe to prove reason with them.

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Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.

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Antonio: Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you? Sebastian: By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.

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Clown: Good Madonna, why mournest thou?Olivia: Good Fool, for my brother's death.Clown:I think his soul is in hell, Madonna.Olivia:I know his soul is in heaven, Fool.Clown: The more fool, Madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven.

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For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.

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Lady, you are the cruel'st she aliveIf you will lead these graces to the graveAnd leave the world no copy.

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Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up. Be that thou know'st thou art and then thou art as great as that thou fear'st.

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How now?Even so quickly may one catch the plague?

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What relish is in this? How runs the stream?Or I am mad, or else this is a dream.Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep.If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!

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But rather reason thus with reason fetter: Love sough is good but given unsought is better.

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Cucullus non facit monachum; that’s as much to say, as I wear not motley in my brain.

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Make me a willow cabin at your gateAnd call upon my soul within the house;Write loyal cantons of contemned loveAnd sing them loud even in the dead of night;Hallo your name to the reverberate hillsAnd make the babbling gossip of the airCry out "Olivia!" O, you should not restBetween the elements of air and earthBut you should pity me

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         O mistress mine! Where are you roaming?          O, stay and hear: your true love’s coming,               That can sing both high and low. 40            Trip no further, pretty sweeting;          Journeys end in lovers meeting,               Every wise man’s son doth know.

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Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness,/ Wherein the...enemy does much.

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What kind o' man is he?""Why, of mankind.

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Viola to Duke Orsino: 'I'll do my best To woo your lady.'[Aside.] 'Yet, a barful strife! Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.

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ORSINIO: Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand timesThou never shouldst love woman like to me.VIOLA:And all those sayings will I overswear;And those swearings keep as true in soulAs doth that orbèd continent the fireThat severs day from night.

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Orsino: For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won,Than women's are. ...For women are as roses, whose fair flow'rBeing once display'd doth fall that very hour.Viola: And so they are; alas, that they are so!To die, even when they to perfection grow!

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great while ago the world began,      With hey-ho, the wind and the rain;   But that’s all one, our play is done,      And we’ll strive to please you every day.     Exit

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Still so cruel?""Still so constant, lord.

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For youth is bought more oft than begged or borrowed.

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I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part.

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Does not our lives consist of the four elements?""Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking.

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Too well what love women to men may owe. In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter loved a man – As it might be perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship.

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A good lenten answer! I can tell thee where that saying was born, of ‘I fear no colours.

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I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.

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For folly that he wisely shows is fit;But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit.

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I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal. I saw him put down the other day with an 80   ordinary fool that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he’s out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools’ zanies.

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The devil a puritan that he is, or anything, constantly, but a time-pleaser, an affectioned ass that cons state without book and utters it by great swathes; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that all that look on him love him – and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.

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Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in thisworld needs to fear no colours.

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Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me, now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass. So that by my foes, sir I profit in the knowledge of myself, and by my friends, I am abused. So

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O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted. I will give out divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil labeled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth.

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Give me some music! Now, good morrow, friends!

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And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.

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O thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou beWhen time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow,That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feetWhere thou and I henceforth may never meet.

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By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth. And that no woman has, nor never none Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. And so, adieu, good madam; never more Will I my master’s tears to you deplore.

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see you what you are, you are too proud. 240   But if you were the devil, you are fair. My lord and master loves you – O, such love Could be but recompensed, though you were crowned The nonpareil of beauty!

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Make me a willow cabin at your gateAnd call upon my soul within the house.Write loyal cantons of contemned loveAnd sing them loud even in the dead of night.Halloo your name to the reverberate hillsAnd make the babbling gossip of the airCry out Olivia! Oh, you should not restBetween the elements of air and earth,But you should pity me.

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How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague?

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and, assure thyself, there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man’s commendation with woman than report of valour.

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Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as roses, whose fair flower, Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.

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Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.

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I’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love   To spite a raven’s heart within a dove.

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What is decreed must be, and be this so.

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