Cyrano de Bergerac quotes

CYRANO: Oh! by far the simplest path. . .

Decided to be admirable in all!

LE BRET (shrugging his shoulders): So be it! But the motive of your hate To Montfleury—come, tell me!

CYRANO: Come now, bethink you!. . .The fond hope to be Beloved, e’en by some poor graceless lady, Is, by this nose of mine for aye bereft me; —This lengthy nose which, go where’er I will, Pokes yet a quarter-mile ahead of me;

But I may love—and who?

’Tis Fate’s decree I love the fairest—how were’t otherwise?

CYRANO: No, never! Think, how vilely suited Adown this nose a tear its passage tracing! I never will, while of myself I’m master, let the divinity of tears—their beauty Be wedded to such common ugly grossness.

Nothing more solemn than a tear—sublimer;

And I would not by weeping turn to laughter The grave emotion that a tear engenders!

CYRANO:

Pooh! Conquering eyes, methinks, are oft conquered eyes.

LISE (choking with anger): But—

CYRANO:

Or upward—to the stars!

(De Guiche goes out, and mounts into his chair. The other lords go away whispering together. Le Bret goes to the door with them. The crowd disperses.)

And then, if glory come by chance your way, To pay no tribute unto Caesar, none, But keep the merit all your own! In short, Disdaining tendrils of the parasite, To be content, if neither oak nor elm—

Not to mount high, perchance, but mount alone!

LE BRET: Alone, an if you will! But not with hand ’Gainst every man! How in the devil’s name Have you conceived this lunatic idea, To make foes for yourself at every turn?

The forehead, free from mainstay or coercion, Bends here, there, everywhere. But I, embracing Hatred, she lends,—forbidding, stiffly fluted, The ruff’s starched folds that hold the head so rigid; Each enemy—another fold—a gopher, Who adds constraint, and adds a ray of glory; For

Hatred, like the ruff worn by the Spanish, Grips like a vice, but frames you like a halo!

LE BRET (after a silence, taking his arm): Speak proud aloud, and bitter!—In my ear Whisper me simply this,—She loves thee not!

CYRANO:

Well, what if it be my vice, My pleasure to displease—to love men hate me!

Ah, friend of mine, believe me, I march better ’Neath the cross-fire of glances inimical! How droll the stains one sees on fine-laced doublets, From gall of envy, or the poltroon’s drivel!

CYRANO:

None is a fool who knows himself a fool.

And you did not attack me like a fool.

CYRANO (madly): It!. . . (Then calmly, business-like): It would amuse me! It is an enterprise to tempt a poet. Will you complete me, and let me complete you? You march victorious,—I go in your shadow;

Let me be wit for you, be you my beauty!

CHRISTIAN: The letter, that she waits for even now! I never can. . .

CYRANO: A kiss, when all is said,—what is it? An oath that’s ratified,—a sealed promise, A heart’s avowal claiming confirmation,— A rose-dot on the ‘i’ of ‘adoration,’— A secret that to mouth, not ear, is whispered,—

Brush of a bee’s wing, that makes time eternal,—

Communion perfumed like the spring’s wild flowers,— The heart’s relieving in the heart’s outbreathing, When to the lips the soul’s flood rises, brimming!

CYRANO:

A kiss, when all is said,—what is it?

An oath that’s ratified,—a sealed promise, A heart’s avowal claiming confirmation,— A rose-dot on the ‘i’ of ‘adoration,’— A secret that to mouth, not ear, is whispered,— Brush of a bee’s wing, that makes time eternal,— Communion perfumed like the spring’s wild flowers,— The heart’s …

CYRANO: Ay, for homesickness. A nobler pain than hunger,—’tis of the soul, not of the body! I am well pleased to see their pain change its viscera.

Heart-ache is better than stomach-ache.

CARBON: But you weaken their courage by playing thus on their heart-strings!

CYRANO: Why, I well believe He dares to mock my nose? Ho! insolent! (He raises his sword): What say you? It is useless? Ay, I know

But who fights ever hoping for success?

I fought for lost cause, and for fruitless quest! You there, who are you!—You are thousands! Ah! I know you now, old enemies of mine! Falsehood! (He strikes in air with his sword): Have at you! Ha! and Compromise! Prejudice, Treachery!. . . (He strikes):