Beware the ides of March.
Cowards die many times before their deaths.
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.
Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the dogs of war.
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
Et tu, Brute?
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.
Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.
The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.
Cowards die many times before their actual deaths.
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look.
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.
Cowards die many times before their deaths, the valiant never taste of death but once.
Men at some time are masters of their fates.
I thrice presented him a kingly crown, which he did thrice refuse.
The noblest man of them all.
There is a tide in the affairs of men.
A coward dies a thousand deaths, but the valiant taste of death but once.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The elements so mixed in him that nature might stand up and say to all the world, ‘This was a man!’
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; he thinks too much: such men are dangerous.
How many ages hence shall this our lofty scene be acted over in states unborn and accents yet unknown!
I have lived long enough to satisfy both nature and glory.
Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods.
I had rather be a dog and bay the moon than such a Roman.
Men, wives, and children stare, cry out, and run as it were doomsday.
If I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner-time, let’s meet as little as we can.
When beggars die, there are no comets seen.
Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, yet now they fright me.
Caesar, now be still; I kill’d not thee with half so good a will.
Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world like a Colossus!
You have some sick offense within your mind, which by the right and virtue of my place I ought to know of.
O, he sits high in all the people’s hearts!
Friends, I owe more tears to this dead man than you shall see me pay.
There is tears for his love; joy for his fortune; honor for his valor; and death for his ambition.
Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.
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.
I am constant as the Northern Star.
I am as constant as the Northern Star.
Et tu, Brutus? Then fall, Caesar.
Romans, countrymen, lovers! Hear me for my cause, and be silent that you may hear.
She dreamt tonight she saw my statue, which, like a fountain with a hundred spouts, did run pure blood, and many lusty Romans came smiling and did bathe their hands in it.
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
Caesar’s spirit, ranging 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.
Stoop, Romans, stoop, and let us bathe our hands in Caesar’s blood up to the elbows and besmirch our swords. Then walk we forth, even to the market place, and, waving our red weapons o’er our heads, let’s all cry, ‘Peace, freedom, and liberty!’
Speak, strike, redress!
Let’s kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods, not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, for Cassius is aweary of the world; hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; checked by a bondman; all his faults observed, set in a notebook, learned and conned by rote to cast into my teeth.
Here, quite confounded with this mutiny.
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