Richard Iii Shakespeare Quotes

Dispute not with her: she is lunatic.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.

And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die.

Conscience is but a word that cowards use, Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe: Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell; If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.

In thy foul throat thou liest.

Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him.

A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end; Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.

Despair and die. The ghosts

Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King;

Shine out fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass.

But then I sigh, with a piece of Scripture Tell them that God bids us to do evil for good; And thus I clothe my naked villany With odd old ends stolen out of Holy Writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

What do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by. Richard loves Richard; that is, I and I. Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am. Then fly! What, from myself? Great reason why: Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself? Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good That I myself have done unto myself? O, no! Alas, I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself. I am a villain. Yet I lie. I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter: My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree; Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree; All several sins, all used in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, “Guilty! guilty!” I shall despair. There is no creature loves me, And if I die no soul will pity me. And wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself?

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; Murder, stern murder in the dir'st degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty!, guilty!

What a tribute this is to art; what a misfortune this is for history. (In reference to Shakespeare's 'Richard III')

Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.

Bad is the world, and all will come to naught when such ill-dealing must be seen in thought.

The world is grown so bad that wrens make pray where eagles dare not perch

Tis better, sir, to be brief than tedious.

Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues.

Discharge my followers; let them hence away, From Richard's night to Bolingbrooke's fair day.

Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being governed by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world.

Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

What do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by. Richard loves Richard; that is, I and I.

Woe to that land that’s govern’d by a child!

Thus I clothe my naked villainy with old odd ends, stolen forth of holy writ, and seem a saint when most I play the devil.

But shall we wear these glories for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

I'll not meddle with it. It makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal but it accuseth him; a man cannot swear but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his neighbor's wife but it detects him. 'Tis a blushing, shamefaced spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom. It fills a man full of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold that by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps it. It is turned out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing, and every man that means to live well endeavors to trust to himself and live without it.

I am determinèd to prove a villain,

What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.—

Villain, thou know'st nor law of God nor man: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER: But I know none, and therefore am no beast. LADY ANNE: O wonderful, when devils tell the troth! RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER: More wonderful, when angels are so angry.

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity but I know none and therefore am no beast?

They that stand high have many blasts to shake 275 them, 276 And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

I am in So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin.

I am too childish-foolish for this world.

I love violent Shakespeare. It is to me what steak is to some people: the bloodier the better.

For their love Llies in their purses, and whoso empties them By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul! Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!

Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings; Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's. And mark how well the sequel hangs together: Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me; The precedent was full as long a-doing; And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd, Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty. Here's a good world the while! Who is so gros That cannot see this palpable device? Yet who's so bold but says he sees it not? Bad is the world; and all will come to nought, When such ill dealing must be seen in thought.

Come, lead me to the block. Bear him my head. 108 They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. 109

A horse, a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

I have learn'd that fearful commenting Is leaden servitor to dull delay; Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary. Then fiery expedition be my wing, Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king! Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield. We must be brief when traitors brave the field.

From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death: That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood, That foul defacer of God's handiwork, That excellent grand tyrant of the earth That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.

O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile And teach me how to curse mine enemies! QUEEN MARGARET. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were, And he that slew them fouler than he is. Bett'ring thy loss makes the bad-causer worse; Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. QUEEN ELIZABETH. My words are dull; O, quicken them with thine! QUEEN MARGARET. Thy woes will make them sharp and pierce like mine. DUCHESS. Why should calamity be fun of words? QUEEN ELIZABETH. Windy attorneys to their client woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries, Let them have scope; though what they will impart Help nothing else, yet do they case the heart. DUCHESS. If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me, And in the breath of bitter words let's smother My damned son that thy two sweet sons smother'd. The trumpet sounds; be copious in exclaims.

Fathers that wear rags Do make their children blind; But fathers that bear bags Shall see their children kind. Fortune, that arrant whore, Ne'er turns the key to th' poor.

تو جهانی به خون آلودی و انجامت نیز چنین خواهد بود زندگی‌ات به رسوایی گذشت و مرگت نیز قرین رسوایی خواهد بود

O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! More wonderful, when angels are so angry.

Ahora el invierno de nuestro descontento se vuelve verano con este sol de York

Созданий божьих гнусный истребитель И величайший на земле тиран, Что среди тленья царствует и воплей

Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile! He is my son; yea, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.

And look you get a prayer-book in your hand, And stand between two churchmen, good my lord;

Woe to that land that's govern'd by a child!

Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward.

Ne acı, kartallar kafese kapatılırken Özgürlüğü avlıyor açgözlü Ve işe yaramaz sahte şahinler

Thou diest, though I the sicker be. [II.i.91]

We are the Queen’s abjects. [I.i.106]

Dispreț pe buze nu purta, căci ele Sunt spre sărut, nu spre sfidări, făcute.

Știu eu? S-a înrăit atâta lumea, Că unde n-ajung vulturi, pradă găi. De când orice neam prost se face nobil, Mulți nobili neamuri proaste s-au făcut.

Și într-un om tu nu poți desluși Decât ce pare-a fi; și zău ca rar Sau niciodat' nu-i una cu simțirea-i.

Voi plânge-n scrâșnet. Drag nu-s nimănui; Nu-i om să-i fie milă dacă mor; Și cum să-i fie, dacă-n mine însumi De mine însumi milă nu găsesc?

I have learn'd that fearful commenting Is leaden servitor to dull delay; Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary.

What! think you we are Turks or Infidels?

One that made means to come by what he hath,

Long die thy happy days before thy death;

As it is won with blood, lost be it so!

My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.

As grandes dores ressaltam de onde caem não por serem vazias: pela ação do próprio peso.

I fear ‘twill prove a giddy world. [II.iii.5]

More pity that the eagles should be mew’d, Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty. [I.1.132]

The hopeless word of ‘never to return’ Breathe I against thee. [I.iii.152]

Welcome destruction, blood, and massacre! [II.iv.53]

Windy attorneys to their clinets' woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathign orators of miseries: Let them ahve scope, though what they will impart Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart

Windy attorneys to their clients' woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries: Let them have scope, though what they will impart help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.

Richard III's monologue is not unlike Adolf Hitler's speech to his General Staff on 23 August 1939, in its utter lack of self-deception. The lack of self-deception is striking because most of us invent plausible reasons for doing something we know is wrong. Milton describes such rationalization in Paradise Lost in Eve, both before she eats the fruit of the forbidden tree and afterwards, when she justifies inducing Adam to eat: So dear I love him, that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life. (Pl, IX. 832-33) Eve makes this profession of love for Adam at the moment when she is, in effect, planning to kill him.

If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!

Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog, 239 Thou that wast sealed in thy nativity 240 The slave of nature and the son of hell, 241 Thou slander of thy heavy mother’s womb, 242 Thou loathèd issue of thy father’s loins, 243 Thou rag of honor, thou detested—

The Jungian doctrine of the shadow and the notion that evil is the reverse of good are aimed at denying the reality of evil. But evil is real. It is not innate but acquired, and it is never the reverse of good but rather its destroyer. Shakespeare was aware of this. He saw and showed the origins of evil but never tried to relativize evil by using psychological explanations, as is done in psychoanalysis, for instance. Richard III, Macbeth, and some of his other characters are evil because they are destructive, even when we know why they have become so. Our knowledge cannot alter them. They can change only if they sense, not merely intellectually but with their feelings, how they have been turned into evil people.

Montjoy, the French herald, comes to the English king under a flag of truce and asks that they be permitted to bury their dead and “Sort our nobles from our common men; For many of our princes (wo the while!) Lie drowned and soaked in mercenary blood; So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs In blood of princes.” (Henry V., Act 4, Sc. 7.) With equal courtesy Richard III., on Bosworth field, speaks of his opponents to the gentlemen around him: “Remember what you are to cope withal — A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, A scum of Bretagne and base lackey peasants.” (Act 5, Sc. 3.)

No, so God help me, they spake not a word; But, like dumb statues or breathing stones, Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale. Which when I saw, I reprehended them, And ask'd the Mayor what meant this wilfull silence. His answer was, the people were not used To be spoke to but by the Recorder. Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again. 'Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferr'd'- But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. When he had done, some followers of mine own At lower end of the hall hurl'd up their caps, And some ten voices cried 'God save King Richard!' And thus I took the vantage of those few- 'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I 'This general applause and cheerful shout Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard.' And even here brake off and came away. GLOUCESTER. What, tongueless blocks were they? Would they not speak?

To take a modern example, let us say that Othello, Iago, Hamlet, Lear, Richard III, existed merely in the mind of Shakespeare, at the time of their conception or creation. And yet, Shakespeare also existed within each of these characters, giving them their vitality, spirit, and action. Whose is the "spirit" of the characters that we know as Micawber, Oliver Twist, Uriah Heep — is it Dickens, or have each of these characters a personal spirit, independent of their creator? Have the Venus of Medici, the Sistine Madonna, the Appollo Belvidere, spirits and reality of their own, or do they represent the spiritual and mental power of their creators? The Law of Paradox explains that both propositions are true, viewed from the proper viewpoints. Micawber is both Micawber, and yet Dickens. And, again, while Micawber may be said to be Dickens, yet Dickens is not identical with Micawber. Man, like Micawber, may exclaim: "The Spirit of my Creator is inherent within me — and yet I am not HE!" How different this from the shocking half-truth so vociferously announced by certain of the half-wise, who fill the air with their raucous cries of: "I Am God!" Imagine poor Micawber, or the sneaky Uriah Heep, crying: "I Am Dickens"; or some of the lowly clods in one of Shakespeare’s plays, grandiloquently announcing that: "I Am Shakespeare!" THE ALL is in the earth-worm, and yet the earth-worm is far from being THE ALL And still the wonder remains, that though the earth-worm exists merely as a lowly thing, created and having its being solely within the Mind of THE ALL — yet THE ALL is immanent in the earth-worm, and in the particles that go to make up the earth-worm. Can there be any greater mystery than this of "All in THE ALL; and THE ALL in All?

I’m having my lunch when I hear a familiar hoarse shout, ‘Oy Tony!’ I whip round, damaging my neck further, to see Michael Gambon in the lunch queue. … Gambon tells me the story of Olivier auditioning him at the Old Vic in 1962. His audition speech was from Richard III. ‘See, Tone, I was thick as two short planks then and I didn’t know he’d had a rather notable success in the part. I was just shitting myself about meeting the Great Man. He sussed how green I was and started farting around.’ As reported by Gambon, their conversation went like this: Olivier: ‘What are you going to do for me?’ Gambon: ‘Richard the Third.’ Olivier: ‘Is that so. Which part?’ Gambon: ‘Richard the Third.’ Olivier: ‘Yes, but which part?’ Gambon: ‘Richard the Third.’ Olivier: ‘Yes, I understand that, but which part?’ Gambon: ‘Richard the Third.’ Olivier: ‘But which character? Catesby? Ratcliffe? Buckingham’s a good part …’ Gambon: ‘Oh I see, beg your pardon, no, Richard the Third.’ Olivier: ‘What, the King? Richard?’ Gambon: ‘ — the Third, yeah.’ Olivier: “You’ve got a fucking cheek, haven’t you?’ Gambon: ‘Beg your pardon?’ Olivier: ‘Never mind, which part are you going to do?’ Gambon: ‘Richard the Third.’ Olivier: ‘Don’t start that again. Which speech?’ Gambon: ‘Oh I see, beg your pardon, “Was every woman in this humour woo’d.”‘ Olivier: ‘Right. Whenever you’re ready.’ Gambon: ‘ “Was ever woman in this humour woo’d –” ‘ Olivier: ‘Wait. Stop. You’re too close. Go further away. I need to see the whole shape, get the full perspective.’ Gambon: ‘Oh I see, beg your pardon …’ Gambon continues, ‘So I go over to the far end of the room, Tone, thinking that I’ve already made an almighty tit of myself, so how do I save the day? Well I see this pillar and I decide to swing round it and start the speech with a sort of dramatic punch. But as I do this my ring catches on a screw and half my sodding hand gets left behind. I think to myself, “Now I mustn’t let this throw me since he’s already got me down as a bit of an arsehole”, so I plough on … “Was ever woman in this humour woo’d –”‘ Olivier: ‘Wait. Stop. What’s the blood?’ Gambon: ‘Nothing, nothing, just a little gash, I do beg your pardon …’ A nurse had to be called and he suffered the indignity of being given first aid with the greatest actor in the world passing the bandages. At last it was done. Gambon: ‘Shall I start again?’ Olivier: ‘No. I think I’ve got a fair idea how you’re going to do it. You’d better get along now. We’ll let you know.’ Gambon went back to the engineering factory in Islington where he was working. At four that afternoon he was bent over his lathe, working as best as he could with a heavily bandaged hand, when he was called to the phone. It was the Old Vic. ‘It’s not easy talking on the phone, Tone. One, there’s the noise of the machinery. Two, I have to keep my voice down ’cause I’m cockney at work and posh with theatre people. But they offer me a job, spear-carrying, starting immediately. I go back to my work-bench, heart beating in my chest, pack my tool-case, start to go. The foreman comes up, says, “Oy, where you off to?” “I’ve got bad news,” I say, “I’ve got to go.” He says, “Why are you taking your tool box?” I say, “I can’t tell you, it’s very bad news, might need it.” And I never went back there, Tone. Home on the bus, heart still thumping away. A whole new world ahead. We tend to forget what it felt like in the beginning.

Bloody thou art, Bloody will be thy end William Shakespeare, Richard III

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. - William Shakespeare Richard III (Act I, scene ii) Protection is not a principle but an expedient. - Benjamin Disraeli, 1804-1881

It was Sir Thomas More, from whom Shakespeare borrowed so much of his portrait of Richard III, who put the matter most clearly almost a hundred years earlier: “When I consider any social system that prevails in the modern world,” More wrote in Utopia, “I can’t, so help me God, see it as anything but a conspiracy of the rich.

Richard III was the last English monarch to die in battle. Shakespeare gave him the words that made him immortal: “My kingdom for a horse!

During a sinister interchange between one of the little princes and his wicked uncle, Richard III, the prince wonders how truth is passed down the ages - whether through the written or the spoken word (3.1.75-83). The prince believes, he says innocently, that the history of the Tower of London - a choice of subject never far from the minds of English Catholics - would survive simply by word of mouth, even if it were never written down. The little prince has stepped into dangerous territory. He is not only defending the role of tradition against scripture - a central Catholic Reformation stance - but he also suggests that the grisly truth about England's persecutions will survive irrespective of what appears in history books.

I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarse half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them.

Before the times of change, still is it so: By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust Ensuing dangers; as by proof, we see The waters swell before a boisterous storm. William Shakespeare (Richard III)

Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee I crave your blessing. DUCHESS. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast,love, charity, obedience, and true duty! GLOUCESTER. Amen! [Aside] And make me die a good old man! That is the butt end of a mother's blessing; I marvel that her Grace did leave it out.

And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mewed up...

Uncertain way of gain. But I am in So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin. Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

O long and tedious night, Abate thy hours

A very bad murderer,” I said. “Like Shakespeare’s Second Murderer in that scene in King Richard III. The fellow that had certain dregs of conscience, but still wanted the money, and in the end didn’t do the job at all because he couldn’t make up his mind. Such murderers are very dangerous. They have to be removed.