O sir, to wilful men The injuries that they themselves procure Must be their schoolmasters.
O God, that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea.
Let's lack no discipline, make no delay: For, lords, tomorrow is a busy day.
The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!
I drink the air before me, and return Or ere your pulse twice beat.
But, alas, to make me A fixèd figure for the time of scorn To point his slow unmoving finger at!
For ever and for ever farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile. If not, why then this parting was well made.
Love no man in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honor come off again.
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.
Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial.