Twelfth Night quotes

Enter Duke, Curio, and other Lords; Musicians attending.

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;

Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or, to be turned away, is not that as good as a hanging to you?

Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out.

Not so, neither; but I am resolved on two points.

Wit, an’t be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man: for what says Quinapalus? “

Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.

”

“Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman.” I’ll be sworn thou art; Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions and spirit, Do give thee five-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft! Unless the master were the man. How now!

Even so quickly may one catch the plague?

Methinks I feel this youth’s perfections With an invisible and subtle stealth To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. What ho, Malvolio!

tell him I’ll none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him: If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, I’ll give him reasons for’t: hie thee, Malvolio.

I do I know not what, and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.

Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe; What is decreed must be, and be this so. Exit.

She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion Invites me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord’s ring! why, he sent her none. I am the man: if it be so, as ’tis, Poor lady, she were better love a dream.

Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,

Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. How easy is it for the proper-false In women’s waxen hearts to set their forms! Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we! For such as we are made of, such we be. How will this fadge?

And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. What will become of this? As I am man, My state is desperate for my master’s love; As I am woman—now alas the day!— What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!

O time! thou must untangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me to untie!

Exit.

Sings. 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.

Good, good.

Sings. 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.

A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

Sings. 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.

Out o’ tune, sir: ye lie. Art any more than a steward?

Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too.

I’ll pay thy pleasure then.

Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

Give me now leave to leave thee.

A blank, my lord. She never told her love,

But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.

Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more: but indeed Our shows are more than will; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love.

But died thy sister of her love, my boy?

I am all the daughters of my father’s house, And all the brothers too: and yet I know not.

Sir, shall I to this lady?

I saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.

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

I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master as with my mistress: I think I saw your wisdom there.

Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you come; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin, I might say “element,” but the word is over-worn. Exit.

This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well craves a kind of wit:

He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice As full of labour as a wise man’s art:

If I think so, I think the same of you.

Then think you right: I am not what I am.

I would you were as I would have you be!

Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause; But rather reason thus with reason fetter,

Love sought is good, but given unsought better.

By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom and one truth, And that no woman has; nor never none Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. And so adieu, good madam:

Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter with thee?

Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs.

It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed: I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.

“If not, let me see thee a servant still.”

Why, this is very midsummer madness.

Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino’s is returned: I could hardly entreat him back: he attends your ladyship’s pleasure.

He named Sebastian: I my brother know Yet living in my glass; even such and so In favour was my brother, and he went Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, For him I imitate: O, if it prove,

Tempests are kind and salt waves fresh in love.

Exit.

Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true.

Nay, I’ll ne’er believe a madman till I see his brains.

I will fetch you light and paper and ink.

I know thee well: how dost thou, my good fellow?

Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse for my friends.

Just the contrary; the better for thy friends.

You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that I do perceive it hath offended you: Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows We made each other but so late ago.

One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons, A natural perspective, that is and is not!

Antonio, O my dear Antonio! How have the hours rack’d and tortured me, Since I have lost thee!

How have you made division of yourself?

An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin Than these two creatures.

Which is Sebastian?