Twelfth Night

"If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. — That strain again; it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear, like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odour! Enough! No more. 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before."

"Conceal me what I am; and be my aid For such disguise as, haply, shall become The form of my intent."

"I am sure care's an enemy to life."

"I have them at my fingers' ends."

"Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these gifts a curtain before 'em?"

"Is it a world to hide virtues in?"

"Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage..."

"Olivia: Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you; besides, you grow dishonest. Feste: Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him; any thing that's mended is but patched; virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that amends is but patched with virtue."

"Olivia: What's a drunken man like, fool? Feste: Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him."

"We will draw the curtain, and show you the picture."

"’T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell’st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave, And leave the world no copy."

"Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love, And sing them loud even in the dead of night; Holla your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out."

"O Time, thou must untangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me t' untie."

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

"What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty: Youth's a stuff will not endure."

"He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural."

"Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?"

"Sir Toby: Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? Feste: Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too."

"My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour."

"These most brisk and giddy-paced times."

"Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart: For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are."

"Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent."

"The spinsters and the knitters in the sun And the free maids that weave their thread with bones Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age."

"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."

"Orsino: And what's her history? Viola: A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought, And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?"

"I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too."

"This is my lady's hand these be her very C's, her U's and her T's and thus makes she her great P's."

"An you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you."

"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em."

"Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the sun; it shines everywhere."

"O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip!"

"Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better."

"Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter."

"I think we do know the sweet Roman hand."

"Why, this is very midsummer madness."

"Put thyself into the trick of singularity."

"What, man! defy the Devil: consider, he's an enemy to mankind."

"’T is not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan."

"If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction."

"More matter for a May morning."

"Still, you keep o’ the windy side of the law."

"An I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I'ld have seen him damned ere I'ld have challenged him."

"Out of my lean and low ability I'll lend you something."

"Out of the jaws of death."

"As the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, That, that is, is."

"Feste: What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild-fowl? Malvolio: That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird."

"Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges."

"When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain: A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day."

"A great while ago the world begun, 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."

"Viola – a shipwrecked young woman who disguises herself as a page named Cesario"