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.
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Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.
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Et tu, Brute.
[You also, Brutus.]
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Brutus had rather be a villager Than to repute himself a son of Rome...
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To read my book, the virgin shy - May blush, while Brutus standeth by: But when he's gone, read through what's writ, And never stain a cheek for it
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Et tu, Brute. You also, Brutus.
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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.
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The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
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He was my friend, faithful, and just to meBut Brutus says, he was ambitious,And Brutus is an honorable man.He hath brought many captives home to Rome,Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.Did this in Caesar seem ambitiousWhen the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept.Ambition should me made of sterner stuff,Yet Brutus says, he was ambitiousAnd Brutus is an honorable man.
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Et tu, Brute? (And you too, Brutus?)
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Brutus. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. Messala. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell,...
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For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men.
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Brutus. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, That now on Pompey's basis lies along,...
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For Brutus is an honourable man So are they all, all honourable men.
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The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars, but in ourselves if we are underlings.
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For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men.
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Ligarius. What's to do? Brutus. A piece of work that will make sick men whole.
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