Julius Caesar quotes

Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, Cry “Caesar!” Speak; Caesar is turn’d to hear.

Beware the ides of March.

A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.

Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things.

’Tis just: And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow.

Another general shout! I do believe that these applauses are For some new honours that are heap’d on Caesar.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.

Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that “Caesar”? Why should that name be sounded more than yours?

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.

Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that “Caesar”? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy;

Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that “Caesar”?

Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with ’em, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar.

Antonius!

Let me have men about me that are fat: Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o’ nights:

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Let me have men about me that are fat: Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o’ nights:

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Fear him not, Caesar; he’s not dangerous; He is a noble Roman and well given.

I know where I will wear this dagger then;

Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius:

Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;

It must be by his death: and for my part, I know no personal cause to spurn at him, But for the general. He would be crown’d: How that might change his nature, there’s the question.

It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; And that craves wary walking.

Crown him?—that;— And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, That at his will he may do danger with. The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins Remorse from power:

Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius, To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, Like wrath in death and envy afterwards; For Antony is but a limb of Caesar:

Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.

We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar; And in the spirit of men there is no blood: O, that we then could come by Caesar’s spirit, And not dismember Caesar! But, alas, Caesar must bleed for it!

What can be avoided Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions Are to the world in general as to Caesar.

When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear;

When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once.

Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

I would have had thee there, and here again, Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain ’tween my heart and tongue!

I have a man’s mind, but a woman’s might. How hard it is for women to keep counsel!

Art thou here yet?

To the Soothsayer. The ides of March are come.

Ay, Caesar; but not gone.

Hail, Caesar! read this schedule.

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, Of whose true-fix’d and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.

The skies are painted with unnumber’d sparks,

They are all fire and everyone doth shine, But there’s but one in all doth hold his place: So in the world; ’tis furnish’d well with men, And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;

Speak, hands for me! Casca first, then the other Conspirators and Marcus Brutus stab Caesar.

Et tu, Brute! Then fall, Caesar.

Dies.

All pity choked with custom of fell deeds: And 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;

That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.

If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar’s, to him I say, that Brutus’ love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer:—

Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.

Had you rather Caesar were living and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him:

Peace, ho! let us hear him.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:

But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones;

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest— For Brutus is an honourable man;

Stand back; room; bear back.

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.

You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on; ’Twas on a summer’s evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii: Look, in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through:

For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar’s angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him!

This was the most unkindest cut of all;

For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms, Quite vanquish’d him: then burst his mighty heart;

Pluck down forms, windows, anything. Exeunt Citizens with the body.

Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, Take thou what course thou wilt!

Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome.

I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet.

Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses.

I am not Cinna the conspirator.

With courtesy and with respect enough; But not with such familiar instances, Nor with such free and friendly conference, As he hath used of old.

Thou hast described A hot friend cooling:

ever note, Lucilius, When love begins to sicken and decay, It useth an enforced ceremony. There are no tricks in plain and simple faith; But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, Make gallant show and promise of their mettle;

Thou hast described A hot friend cooling: ever note, Lucilius, When love begins to sicken and decay, It useth an enforced ceremony.

There are no tricks in plain and simple faith;

But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, Make gallant show and promise of their mettle; But when they should endure the bloody spur, They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades, Sink in the trial. Comes his army on?

What, shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world But for supporting robbers, shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honours For so much trash as may be grasped thus?

I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.

Brutus, bay not me; I’ll not endure it: you forget yourself, To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I, Older in practice, abler than yourself To make conditions.

Within.

Nothing but death shall stay me.

Enter Poet, followed by Lucilius, Titinius, and Lucius.

Under your pardon. You must note beside, That we have tried the utmost of our friends, Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe: The enemy increaseth every day; We, at the height, are ready to decline.

There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.

Why, then, lead on.

O, that a man might know The end of this day’s business ere it come!

But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known. Come, ho! away! Exeunt.