Caesar Shakespeare Quotes

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.

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.

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.

Et tu, Brute?

What is more important, that Caesar is assassinated or that he is assassinated by his intimate friends? … That,’ Frederick said, 'is where the tragedy is.

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.

A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once. It seems to me most strange that men should fear, seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.

Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!

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

Of all the wonders that I have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come. (Act II, Scene 2)

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.

Beware the ides of March.

His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!

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

Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come

There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.

And since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself, that of yourself which you yet know not of.

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

What a terrible era in which idiots govern the blind.

The ides of March are come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; but not gone.

Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.

As I love the name of honour more than I fear death.

But I am constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.

La culpa, no está en nuestras estrellas, sino en nosotros mismos, que consentimos en ser inferiores.

Let me have men about me that are fat, ...Sleek-headed men and such as sleep a-nights. Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look, He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.

As he was valiant, I honor him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.

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

Suppose, for instance, that men were only represented in literature as the lovers of women, and were never the friends of men, soldiers, thinkers, dreamers; how few parts in the plays of Shakespeare could be allotted to them; how literature would suffer! We might perhaps have most of Othello; and a good deal of Antony; but no Caesar, no Brutus, no Hamlet, no Lear, no Jaques--literature would be incredibly impoverished, as indeed literature is impoverished beyond our counting by the doors that have been shut upon women.

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

And Caesar's spirit, raging 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.

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 answered it ... Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, (For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they all; all honourable men) Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral ... He was my friend, faithful and just to me: 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; And, sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause: What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? O judgement! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason…. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me

O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!

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

I am the owner of the sphere, Of the seven stars and the solar year, of Caesar's hand, and Plato's brain, Of Lord Christ's heart, and Shakespeare's strain.

I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.

O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !

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

And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.

This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite.

But, for my own part, it was Greek to me.

Danger knows full well that Caesar is more dangerous than he. We are two lions litter’d in one day, and I the elder and more terrible.

Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me: now no more The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip: Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act; I hear him mock The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men To excuse their after wrath: husband, I come: Now to that name my courage prove my title! I am fire and air; my other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done? Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell. Kisses them. IRAS falls and dies Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? If thou and nature can so gently part, The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, Which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still? If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world It is not worth leave-taking.

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

I was born free as Caesar; so were you

for the eye sees not itself, but by reflection, by some other things.

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men’s blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know;

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.

How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over, In states unborn and accents yet unknown!

Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, Should patch a wall t' expel the winter’s flaw!

But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.

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 dishonorable 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.

But 'tis common proof, that lowliness is young ambition's ladder, whereto the climber-upward turns his face; but when he once attains the upmost round, he then turns his back, looks in the clouds, scorning the vase defrees by which he did ascend.

Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?

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

He reads much; He is a great observer and he looks Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays, As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music; Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit That could be moved to smile at any thing. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous.

These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men And keep us all in servile fearfulness.

If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; if not this parting was well made.

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.

Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils.

Shakespeare wrote in Julius Caesar: Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy: Hide it in smiles and affability.

Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasm or a hideous dream. The genius and the moral instruments Are then in council, and the state of a man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.

I thrice presented him a kingly crown. Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?

Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently, For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honour more than I fear death.

But Shakespeare never drank coffee. Nor did Julius Caesar, or Socrates. Alexander the Great conquered half the world without even a café latte to perk him up. The pyramids were designed and constructed without a whiff of a sniff of caffeine. Coffee was introduced to Europe only in 1615. The achievements of antiquity are quite enough to cow the modern human, but when you realize that they did it all without caffeine it becomes almost unbearable.

Strike as thou didst at Caesar; for I know / When though didst hate him worst, thou loved’st him better / Than ever thou loved’st Cassius.

The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins remorse from power.

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.

Fill till the wine o'erswell the cup

A piece of work that will make sick men whole.

What means this shouting? I do fear, the people Choose Caesar for their king.

The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, They are all fire and every one doth shine

Não tenho dormido. Entre a ação de um ato terrível e o primeiro gesto, todo esse intervalo é como um fantasma ou um sonho odioso: O Génio e os instrumentos mortais estão nessa altura reunidos; e a condição do homem, equiparável a um pequeno reino, sofre então a natureza de uma insurreição.

Hot from hell. Caesar's spirit raging in revenge. Cry,havoc! And let slip the dogs of war.

Caesar, Now be still, I killed not thee with half so good a will"?

Vexed I am Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself, Which gives some soil, perhaps, to my behaviors.

And Caesar shall go forth.

He that cuts off twenty years of life Cuts off so many years of fearing death.

The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.” ―William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar,

For he is superstitious grown of late, Quite from the main opinion he held once Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies.

إن قلبي ينوح ألا تستطيع الفضيلة أن تعيش بمنجاة من أنياب الحسد.

Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep’st so sound. Julius Caesar (2.1.248-251)

But are not some whole that we must make sick?

Fates, we will know your pleasures: That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time And drawing days out, that men stand upon.

Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius.

And whether we shall meet again, I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take. Forever and forever farewell, Cassius. If we do meet again, why we shall smile; If not, why then this parting was well made.

Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man….

And tell them that I will not come today. “Cannot” is false, and that I dare not, falser. I will not come today. Tell them so,

That you do love me, I am nothing jealous.

You see we do, yet see you but our hands And this the bleeding business they have done: Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful

Friends, I owe more tears to this dead man than you shall see me pay —I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.

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.

There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats; For I am arm'd so strong in honesty,

We shall be call’d purgers, not murderers.

Is it physical To walk unbraced and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed To dare the vile contagion of the night?

O hateful error, melancholy’s child. Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men The things that are not? O error soon22 conceived, 70      Thou never comest unto a happy birth, But kill’st the mother that engendered23 thee.

For I can raise no money by vile means: By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash 75By any indirection.

Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home: Is this a holiday? what! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day without the sign Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?

Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.

Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? Brutus. No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, 140 But by reflection, by some other things.

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey?

Men may construe things, after their fashion / Clean them from the purpose of the things themselves -Cicero

I am not gamesome: I do lack some part of that quick spirit that is in Antony.

إنما تكون إساءة العظمة حين تفصل الرحمة عن المقدرة.

And as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus unkindly knocked or no.

And graves have yawned and yielded up their dead. Fierce

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. 165    Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.

Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.

Good reasons must, of force, give place to better.

He sits high in all the people's hearts, And that which would appear offense in us, His countenance, like richest alchemy, Will change to virtue and to worthiness.

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

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,

Nature might stand up      And say to all the world, ‘This was a man!

But since the affairs of men rest still incertain, Let's reason with the worst that may befall.

Let Antony and Caesar fall together.

I should not urge thy duty past thy might.

Do not presume too much upon my love; I may do that I shall be sorry for.

Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds (20) In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol. The

When think you that the sword goes up again? | Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds | Be well avenged, or till another Caesar | Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors

I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much, He is a great observer, and he looks Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays As thou dost, Anthony; he heard no music; Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mocked himself and scorned his spirit That could be moved to smile at anything. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous.

What, Lucius, ho! I cannot, by the progress of the stars, Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say! I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius!

Therein, ye gods, ye make the weak most strong; Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat. Nor stony wall, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit: But life being weary of these worldly bars Never lacks power to dismiss itself.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause: What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him? O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me.

Aşağıda olanların yükseklerdedir gözü; Merdiven çıkanın yukarıya çevriktir yüzü; Ama son basamağa ulaştı mı bir kez Merdivene çevirir sırtını, bulutlara bakar, Hor görüp birer birer basıp çıktığı basamakları.

O hateful error, melancholy's child, Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men The things that are not? O error soon conceived, That never com'st unto a happy birth, But kill'so the mother that engendered thee

Her köle avcunun içinde taşır Kendi köleliğinden kurtulma gücünü.

Think you I am no stronger than my own sex being so father'd and husbanded?

أن الحب متى شرع يعتل ويبلى تكلف الإفراط في الحفاوة.فما في الإخلاص النقي الصادق مصانعات.

but for mine own part, it was Greek to me.

Speak, hands for me!

CASSIUS : "Will you dine with me tomorrow?" CASCA : "Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth the eating.

إنما مثل الزائفين من الرجال كمثل الخيل السريعة عند الانطلاق،تبدو باهرة المظهر وتعد بالأصالة،لكنها متى اقتضى أن تعاني المهماز يدميها أدلت أعرافها وأخفقت،مثل الكوادن الخادعة،في الامتحان.

when meeting someone, our brains are in overdrive. Remember Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar? He said of Cassius, he "has a lean and hungry look . . . he thinks too much . . . such men are dangerous.

But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world; now lies he there. And none so poor to do him reverence. O masters, if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honourable men: I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, Than I will wrong such honourable men. But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar; I found it in his closet, 'tis his will: Let but the commons hear this testament-- Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read-- And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds And dip their napkins in his sacred blood, Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Unto their issue.

We look back on history, and what do we see? Empires rising and falling; revolutions and counter-revolutions succeeding one another; wealth accumulating and wealth dispersed; one nation dominant and then another. As Shakespeare’s King Lear puts it, “the rise and fall of great ones that ebb and flow with the moon.” In one lifetime I’ve seen my fellow countrymen ruling over a quarter of the world, and the great majority of them convinced – in the words of what is still a favorite song – that God has made them mighty and will make them mightier yet. I’ve heard a crazed Austrian announce the establishment of a German Reich that was to last for a thousand years; an Italian clown report that the calendar will begin again with his assumption of power; a murderous Georgian brigand in the Kremlin acclaimed by the intellectual elite as wiser than Solomon, more enlightened than Ashoka, more humane than Marcus Aurelius. I’ve seen America wealthier than all the rest of the world put together; and with the superiority of weaponry that would have enabled Americans, had they so wished, to outdo an Alexander or a Julius Caesar in the range and scale of conquest. All in one little lifetime – gone with the wind: England now part of an island off the coast of Europe, threatened with further dismemberment; Hitler and Mussolini seen as buffoons; Stalin a sinister name in the regime he helped to found and dominated totally for three decades; Americans haunted by fears of running out of the precious fluid that keeps their motorways roaring and the smog settling, by memories of a disastrous military campaign in Vietnam, and the windmills of Watergate. Can this really be what life is about – this worldwide soap opera going on from century to century, from era to era, as old discarded sets and props litter the earth? Surely not. Was it to provide a location for so repetitive and ribald a production as this that the universe was created and man, or homo sapiens as he likes to call himself – heaven knows why – came into existence? I can’t believe it. If this were all, then the cynics, the hedonists, and the suicides are right: the most we can hope for from life is amusement, gratification of our senses, and death. But it is not all.

Whoever is born on a day I forget to send a message to Antony will die a beggar. Bring ink and paper, Charmian. Welcome, my good Alexas. Charmian, did I ever love Caesar as much as this? Oh, that splendid Caesar! May you choke on any other sentiments like that! Say, “That splendid Antony.” The courageous Caesar! By Isis, I’ll give you bloody teeth if you ever compare Caesar with Antony, my best man among men.

Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. O hateful error, Melancholy's child, Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men The things that are not? O Error, soon concieved, Thou never com'st unto a happy birth, But kill'st the mother that engendered thee.

Everyone in this tale has a rock-solid hamartia: hers, that she is so sick; yours, that you are so well. Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius, "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.

Caesar. Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night.      Thrice

Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.

إن لي لعقل الرجال،ولكن بي خور المرأة. ألا ما أشق على النساء أن يحفظن سرا !

إنه ضوء النهار الذي يخرج بالأفعوان،وذلك يوجب الحذر عند المسير.

Alas, my lord, your wisdom is consumed in confidence.

For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honor more than I fear death.

With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now. ~~ Even so great men great losses should endure.

Sir, March is wasted fifteen days.

unicorns may be betray’d with trees And bears with glasses, 119 elephants with holes, Lions with toils120 and men with flatterers:

And bear the palm alone.

Peace, ho!

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

My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar

It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly

They were traitors: honourable men!

and this man is now become a god

So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity.

As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him.

He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend.

Caesar’s final words, though, were not ‘Et tu, Brute?’, in spite of what Shakespeare would have you believe. He actually spoke his last words in Greek: ‘Kai su, teknon?’ – ‘Even you, my son?

Shakespeare has Julius Caesar reflect that: 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.

Oh, Charmian, Where think’st thou he is now? Stands he or sits he? Or does he walk? Or is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! Do bravely, horse, for wott’st thou whom thou mov’st? The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm And burgonet of men. He’s speaking now, Or murmuring “Where’s my serpent of old Nile?” For so he calls me. Now I feed myself With most delicious poison. Think on me, That am with Phoebus’ amorous pinches black And wrinkled deep in time. Broad-fronted Caesar, When thou wast here above the ground, I was A morsel for a monarch. And great Pompey Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow. There would he anchor his aspect, and die With looking on his life.

Dostluk sıcaktan soğuğa böyle geçer işte. Dikkat et, hep böyle olur, Lucilius. Sevgi tükenip bezginliğe yüz tuttu mu, Zoraki nezaket gösterileri başlar. Açık yürekli, candan bağlı bir insan gösteriş yapmaz.

First, take a deep breath. Assume Shakespeare’s account is accurate and Julius Caesar gasped “You too, Brutus” before breathing his last. What are the chances you just inhaled a molecule which Caesar exhaled in his dying breath? The surprising answer is that, with probability better than 99 percent, you did just inhale such a molecule.

As with all literature, the play should be read through the eyes of the author, as far as this is possible, which in Shakespeare’s case means reading it through the eyes of an orthodox Christian living in Elizabethan England.

Must I observe you? Must I stand & crouch Under your testy humour? By the gods, You shall digest the venom of your spleen, Though it do split you, for, from this day forth, I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, when you are waspish.

Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear: believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe: censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge.

CAESAR: Let me have men about me that are fat, Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep a-nights. Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous. ANTONY:Fear him not, Caesar; he’s not dangerous. He is a noble Roman, and well given. CAESAR: Would he were fatter! But I fear him not. Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much, He is a great observer, and he looks Quite through the deeds of men.

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. —Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

This was the noblest Roman of them all: All the conspirator, save only he, Did that they did in envy of great Caesar. He only, in a general honest thought And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the elements So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, 'This was a man!

Be patient till the last. Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear: believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe: censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. 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: but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love; joy for his fortune; honour for his valour; and death for his ambition. Who is here so base that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.

Nu ştiu ce preţ ai pus şi tu şi alţii pe viaţa asta. Mie însă viaţa îmi este de prisos, dacă slujeşte doar să mă tem de-un om la fel cu mine.” ― Wiliam Shakespeare

He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Cowards die many times before their deaths

Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;

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

Shakespeare wrote in Julius Caesar: Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek

What did you enact? POLONIUS: I did enact Julius Caesar; I was kill'd i' the Capitol; Brutus killed me. HAMLET: It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there.

Hay lágrimas para su afecto, alegría para su fortuna, honra para su valor, y muerte para su ambición." (Bruto)

Today's theater-goer must live in dread of walking into a theater and discovering that some classic work has been given a modernized, socially relevant setting. Oedipus gouges his eyes with a spoon at a 1950's malt shop; Macbeth napalms Banquo in Viet Nam, Julius Caesar dies in Dallas in 1963. More and more, American theater is coming to resemble a season of Quantum Leap.

CEZAR: Życzyłbym sobie, by mnie otaczali Ludzie otyli, przyczesani gładko, Po których widać, że zdrowo śpią w nocy. Spójrz na Kasjusza: chudy, jakby głodny; Zbyt wiele myśli; tacy najgroźniejsi.

As Shakespeare wrote in Julius Caesar: Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy: Hide it in smiles and affability.  Ernest and Mollie Burkhart Credit 47

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: See what a rent the envious Casca made: Through this well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no; 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 vanquishi'd him: then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statua, Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.

O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,— Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue— A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; Blood and destruction shall be so in use And dreadful objects so familiar That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war; 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.

Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, And as a suitor will I give him this. My heart laments the virtue cannot live Out of the teeth of emulation. If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayest live; If not, the fates with traitors do contrive.

No te lisonjees con la idea lleva en sí una sangre que pueda cambiar de su verdadera calidad, por lo que hace bullir la sangre de ls necios: quiero decir por las palabras almibaradas, las reverencias humillantes y las lisonjas bajas y rastreras "(Cesar)

Co los nam zrządził - dowiemy się wkrótce, Że kiedyś umrze - wie każdy, jedynie Pytania "kiedy" i "jak odwlec śmierć?" Są tym, czym człowiek może się przejmować. KASKA: Kto utnie z życia ze dwadzieścia lat, Oszczędza sobie dwudziestu lat strachu Przed śmiercią.

Suppose, for instance, that men were only represented in literature as the lovers of women, and were never the friends of men, soldiers, thinkers, dreamers; how few parts in the plays of Shakespeare could be allotted to them; how literature would suffer! We might perhaps have most of Othello; and a good deal of Antony; but no Caesar, no Brutus, no Hamlet, no Lear, no Jaques—literature would be incredibly impoverished, as indeed literature is impoverished beyond our counting by the doors that have been shut upon women.

I don’t remember the whole thing, because it was very long, but Atticus recited it for me once, and there was a line that went like this: “Cry ham hock and let slip the hogs of war!” I know you might not agree, but for me that was the best thing Shakespeare ever wrote." You mean, “Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war” from Julius Caesar? "No, I don’t think that’s it. There was ham in there; I’m sure he was talking about ham. They were going to battle hunger." I think you might have been hungry when you heard it, Oberon.

Pero es prueba ordinaria que la humildad es para la joven ambición una escala, desde la cual el trepador vuelve el rostro; pero una vez en el más alto peldaño, da la espalda a la escala, alza la vista a las nubes y desdeña los bajos escalones por los cuales ascendió." (Bruto)

Julius Caesar is an ambivalent study of civil conflict. As in Richard II, the play is structured around two protagonists rather than one. Cesar and Brutus are more alike one another than either would care to admit. This antithetical balance reflects a dual tradition: the medieval view of Dante and Chaucer condemning Brutus and Cassius as conspirators, and the Renaissance view of Sir Philip Sidney and Ben Johnson condemning Caesar as tyrant. Those opposing views still live on in various 20th-century productions which seek to enlist them play on the side of conservatism or liberalism.

No he podido dormir.¡Entre la ejecución de un acto terrible y su primer impulso, todo el intervalo es como una visión o como un horrible sueño! ¡El espíritu y las potencias corporales celebran entonces concejo, y el estado del hombre, semejante a un pequeño reino, sufre una verdadera insurrección!

The curtain rises. A vista opens across the lake. The moon hangs low above the horizon and is reflected in the water. NINA, dressed in white, is seen seated on a great rock. NINA. All men and beasts, lions, eagles, and quails, horned stags, geese, spiders, silent fish that inhabit the waves, starfish from the sea, and creatures invisible to the eye—in one word, life—all, all life, completing the dreary round imposed upon it, has died out at last. A thousand years have passed since the earth last bore a living creature on her breast, and the unhappy moon now lights her lamp in vain. No longer are the cries of storks heard in the meadows, or the drone of beetles in the groves of limes. All is cold, cold. All is void, void, void. All is terrible, terrible—[A pause] The bodies of all living creatures have dropped to dust, and eternal matter has transformed them into stones and water and clouds; but their spirits have flowed together into one, and that great world-soul am I! In me is the spirit of the great Alexander, the spirit of Napoleon, of Caesar, of Shakespeare, and of the tiniest leech that swims. In me the consciousness of man has joined hands with the instinct of the animal; I understand all, all, all, and each life lives again in me.

Marcus Brutus was the original tragic hero of the play ‘Julius Caesar’, Aditya concluded. Perhaps, Shakespeare should have named his play ‘Marcus Brutus’. But then again, it all must have boiled down to saleability and marketing; Julius Caesar being the more famous and thus bankable name. Ironical it was, Aditya smiled. The same Shakespeare had once said-‘What’s in a name...

Éste fue el más noble romano entre todos ellos. Todos los conspiradores, excepto él, hicieron lo que hicieron sólo por envidia al gran Cesar; sólo él, al asociarse a ellos, fue guiado por un pensamiento de general honradez y del bien común a todos. Su vida era pura, y de tal modo se combinaron en él los elementos, que la naturaleza, irguiéndose puede decir al mundo: “¡Este era un hombre!”" (Antonio)

No more light answers. Let our officers Have note what we purpose. I shall break The cause of our expedience to the Queen And get her leave to part. For not alone The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, Do strongly speak to us, but the letters too Of many our contriving friends in Rome Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius Hath given the dare to Caesar and commands The empire of the sea. Our slippery people, Whose love is never linked to the deserver Till his deserts are past, begin to throw Pompey the Great and all his dignities Upon his son, who - high in name and power, Higher than both in blood and life - stands up For the main soldier; whose quality, going on, The sides o' th' world may danger. Much is breeding Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life And not a serpent's poison.

There is something in the contemplation of the mode in which America has been settled, that, in a noble breast, should forever extinguish the prejudices of national dislikes. Settled by the people of all nations, all nations may claim her for their own. You can not spill a drop of American blood without spilling the blood of the whole world. Be he Englishman, Frenchman, German, Dane, or Scot; the European who scoffs at an American, calls his own brother Raca, and stands in danger of the judgment. We are not a narrow tribe of men, with a bigoted Hebrew nationality—whose blood has been debased in the attempt to ennoble it, by maintaining an exclusive succession among ourselves. No: our blood is as the flood of the Amazon, made up of a thousand noble currents all pouring into one. We are not a nation, so much as a world; for unless we may claim all the world for our sire, like Melchisedec, we are without father or mother. For who was our father and our mother? Or can we point to any Romulus and Remus for our founders? Our ancestry is lost in the universal paternity; and Caesar and Alfred, St. Paul and Luther, and Homer and Shakespeare are as much ours as Washington, who is as much the world's as our own. We are the heirs of all time, and with all nations we divide our inheritance. On this Western Hemisphere all tribes and people are forming into one federated whole; and there is a future which shall see the estranged children of Adam restored as to the old hearthstone in Eden. The other world beyond this, which was longed for by the devout before Columbus' time, was found in the New; and the deep-sea-lead, that first struck these soundings, brought up the soil of Earth's Paradise. Not a Paradise then, or now; but to be made so, at God's good pleasure, and in the fullness and mellowness of time. The seed is sown, and the harvest must come; and our children's children, on the world's jubilee morning, shall all go with their sickles to the reaping. Then shall the curse of Babel be revoked, a new Pentecost come, and the language they shall speak shall be the language of Britain. Frenchmen, and Danes, and Scots; and the dwellers on the shores of the Mediterranean, and in the regions round about; Italians, and Indians, and Moors; there shall appear unto them cloven tongues as of fire.

[Shakespeare realized that] Women are able to understand themselves better on a personal level and survive in the world if they dress in men's clothing, thus living underground, safe (...). The presence of women disguising themselves as men dictates that the play be a comedy; women remaining in their frocks, a tragedy. In four great tragedies -Julius Caesar, Hamlet, Othello, and King Lear- almost all the women die (...). How much the women have to adhere to the rules and regulations of their enviroment makes a large difference. Once Rosalind [disguised as a man in As You Like It] has run away from the court, she has no institutional structures to deal with. Ophelia [in her frocks] is surrounded tightly by institutional structures of family, court, and politics; only by going mad can be get out of it all.

1595, Richard Field, fellow-alumnus of the King Edward grammar school in Stratford-upon-Avon, printed The lives of the noble Grecians and Romanes, compared together by that grave learned philosopher and historiographer, Plutarke of Chaeronea: translated out of Greeke into French by James Amiot, abbot of Bellozane, Bishop of Auxerre, one of the Kings privie counsell, and great Amner of France, and out of French into English, by Thomas North. This was the book that got Shakespeare thinking seriously about politics: monarchy versus republicanism versus empire; the choices we make and their tragic consequences; the conflict between public duty and private desire. He absorbed classical thought, but was not enslaved to it. Shakespeare was a thinker who always made it new, adapted his source materials, and put his own spin on them. In the case of Plutarch, he feminized the very masculine Roman world. Brutus and Caesar are seen through the prism of their wives, Portia and Calpurnia; Coriolanus through his mother, Volumnia; Mark Antony through his lover, Cleopatra. Roman women were traditionally silent, confined to the domestic sphere. Cleopatra is the very antithesis of such a woman, while Volumnia is given the full force of that supreme Ciceronian skill, a persuasive rhetorical voice.40 Timon of Athens is alone and unhappy precisely because his obsession with money has cut him off from the love of, and for, women (the only females in Timon’s strange play are two prostitutes). Paradoxically, the very masculinity of Plutarch’s version of ancient history stimulated Shakespeare into demonstrating that women are more than the equal of men. Where most thinkers among his contemporaries took the traditional view of female inferiority, he again and again wrote comedies in which the girls are smarter than the boys—Beatrice in Much Ado about Nothing, Rosalind in As You Like It, Portia in The Merchant of Venice—and tragedies in which women exercise forceful authority for good or ill (Tamora, Cleopatra, Volumnia, and Cymbeline’s Queen in his imagined antiquity, but also Queen Margaret in his rendition of the Wars of the Roses).41

Y por esto conviene que las almas nobles estén siempre asociadas a sus semejantes: porque ¿quién hay tan firme que no pueda ser seducido?" (Casio) "Ni las torres de piedra, ni los muros de bronce forjado, ni la presión subterránea, ni los fuertes anillos de hierro, pueden reprimir las fuerzas del alma; Porque la vida cansada de estas barreras del mundo, jamás pierde el poder de libertarse a sí misma. Y pues se esto, sepa además todo el mundo, que de la parte de tiranía que sufro me puedo sustraer cuando quiera." (Casio) "El abuso de la grandeza existe cuando ésta separa del poder el remordimiento; y a decir verdad de César, nunca ha sabido que sus afectos hayan vacilado más que su razón. "(Bruto) "Pero es prueba ordinaria que la humildad es para la joven ambición una escala, desde la cual el trepador vuelve el rostro; pero una vez en el más alto peldaño, da la espalda a la escala, alza la vista a las nubes y desdeña los bajos escalones por los cuales ascendió." (Bruto) "No te lisonjees con la idea lleva en sí una sangre que pueda cambiar de su verdadera calidad, por lo que hace bullir la sangre de ls necios: quiero decir por las palabras almibaradas, las reverencias humillantes y las lisonjas bajas y rastreras "(Cesar) "Hay lágrimas para su afecto, alegría para su fortuna, honra para su valor, y muerte para su ambición." (Bruto)