Thrice King Quotes

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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
William Shakespeare (Julius Caesar)
I thrice presented him a kingly crown. Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
William Shakespeare (Julius Caesar)
The Queen Who Never Was; what did Viserys ever have that she did not? A little sausage? Is that all it takes to be a king? Let Mushroom rule, then. My sausage is thrice the size of his.
George R.R. Martin (Fire & Blood (A Targaryen History #1))
What infinite heart's-ease Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy! And what have kings, that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony? And what art thou, thou idle ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? What are thy rents? what are thy comings in? O ceremony, show me but thy worth! What is thy soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree and form, Creating awe and fear in other men? Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd Than they in fearing. What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, And bid thy ceremony give thee cure! Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out With titles blown from adulation? Will it give place to flexure and low bending? Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, That play'st so subtly with a king's repose; I am a king that find thee, and I know 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced title running 'fore the king, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world, No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread; Never sees horrid night, the child of hell, But, like a lackey, from the rise to set Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn, Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, And follows so the ever-running year, With profitable labour, to his grave: And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. The slave, a member of the country's peace, Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, Whose hours the peasant best advantages.
William Shakespeare (Henry V)
Daenerys, I am thrice your age,” Ser Jorah said. “I have seen how false men are. Very few are worthy of trust, and Daario Naharis is not one of them. Even his beard wears false colors.” That angered her. “Whilst you have an honest beard, is that what you are telling me? You are the only man I should ever trust?
George R.R. Martin (A Song of Ice and Fire, 5-Book Boxed Set: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, A Dance with Dragons (Song of Ice & Fire 1-5))
When King Mark heard of the death of these two lovers, he crossed the sea and came into Brittany; and he had two coffins hewn, for Tristan and Iseult, one of chalcedony for Iseult, and one of beryl for Tristan. And he took their beloved bodies away with him upon his ship to Tintagel, and by a chantry to the left and right of the apse he had their tombs built round. But in one night there sprang from the tomb of Tristan a green leafy briar, strong in branches and in the scent of its flowers. It climbed the chantry and fell to root again by Iseult's tomb. Thrice did the peasants cut it down, but thrice it grew again as flowered and as strong. They told the marvel to King Mark, and he forbade them to cut the briar any more.
Joseph Bédier (The Romance of Tristan and Iseult)
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I have come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interrèd 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 honorable man; So are they all, all honorable 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 honorable 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 honorable 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 honorable man. ... 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 the 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 vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statue, Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.
William Shakespeare (Julius Caesar)
Then Allan touched his harp lightly, and all words were hushed while he sang thus: "'Oh, where has thou been, my daughter? Oh, where hast thou been this day Daughter, my daughter?' 'Oh, I have been to the river's side, Where the waters lie all gray and wide, And the gray sky broods o'er the leaden tide, And the shrill wind sighs a straining.' "'What sawest thou there, my daughter? What sawest thou there this day, Daughter, my daughter?' 'Oh, I saw a boat come drifting nigh, Where the quivering rushes hiss and sigh, And the water soughs as it gurgles by, And the shrill wind sighs a straining.' "'What sailed in the boat, my daughter? What sailed in the boat this day, Daughter, my daughter?' 'Oh, there was one all clad in white, And about his face hung a pallid light, And his eyes gleamed sharp like the stars at night, And the shrill wind sighed a straining.' "'And what said he, my daughter? What said he to thee this day, Daughter, my daughter?' 'Oh, said he nought, but did he this: Thrice on my lips did he press a kiss, And my heartstrings shrunk with an awful bliss, And the shrill wind sighed a straining.' "'Why growest thou so cold, my daughter? Why growest thou so cold and white, Daughter, my daughter?' Oh, never a word the daughter said, But she sat all straight with a drooping head, For her heart was stilled and her face was dead: And the shrill wind sighed a straining." All listened in silence; and when Allan a Dale had done King Richard heaved a sigh. "By the breath of my body, Allan," quoth he, "thou hast
Howard Pyle (The Adventures of Robin Hood)
Upon the King! Let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, Our children, and our sins, lay on the King! We must bear all. O hard condition, Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel But his own wringing! What infinite heart's ease Must kings neglect that private men enjoy! And what have kings that privates have not too, Save ceremony- save general ceremony? And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? What are thy rents? What are thy comings-in? O Ceremony, show me but thy worth! What is thy soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, Creating awe and fear in other men? Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd Than they in fearing. What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, And bid thy ceremony give thee cure! Thinks thou the fiery fever will go out With titles blown from adulation? Will it give place to flexure and low bending? Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, That play'st so subtly with a king's repose. I am a king that find thee; and I know 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced tide running fore the king, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world- No, not all these, thrice gorgeous ceremony, Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave Who, with a body fill'd and vacant mind, Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread; Never sees horrid night, the child of hell; But, like a lackey, from the rise to set Sweats in the eye of Pheebus, and all night Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn, Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse; And follows so the ever-running year With profitable labour, to his grave. And but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. The slave, a member of the country's peace, Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace Whose hours the peasant best advantages.
William Shakespeare (Henry V)
Gabriel is not an archangel but the code name of a Temple priest, the Temple schools exist for the purposes of ritual sex to maintain priestly family purity, and St. Joseph is descended from the legendary King of Tyre of Masonic ritual, Hiram Abiff! As we shall
Joseph Farrell (THRICE GREAT HERMETICA AND THE JANUS AGE: Hermetic Cosmology, Finance, Politics and Culture in the Middle Ages through the Late Renaissance)
sapphire and inherited, at length, by King Solomon. The philosophical cipher of the Table become known as Ha Qabala (The QBL tradition of light and knowledge) and it was said that he who possessed Qabala also possessed Ram, the highest expression of cosmic knowingness.45
Joseph Farrell (THRICE GREAT HERMETICA AND THE JANUS AGE: Hermetic Cosmology, Finance, Politics and Culture in the Middle Ages through the Late Renaissance)
And so passed the next several days. I prowled around the various Court functions to mark where Shevraeth was, and if I spotted him I’d invariably sneak back to the State Wing and slip into the memoirs room to read some more--when I wasn’t writing letters. My response to the Unknown had caused a lengthy answer in kind, and for a time we exchanged letters--sometimes thrice a day. It was such a relief to be able to express myself freely and without cost. He seemed to appreciate my jokes, for his style gradually metamorphosed from the carefully neutral mentor to a very witty kind of dialogue that verged from time to time on the acerbic--just the kind of humor that appealed most to me. We exchanged views about different aspects of history, and I deeply enjoyed his trenchant observations on the follies of our ancestors. He never pronounced judgment on current events and people, despite some of my hints; and I forbore asking directly, lest I inadvertently say something about someone in his family--or worse, him. For I still had no clue to his identity. Savona continued to flirt with me at every event we met at. Deric claimed my company for every sporting event. And shy Geral always gravitated to my side at balls; when we talked--which was a lot--it was about music. Though others among the lords were friendly and pleasant, these three were the most attentive. None of them hinted at letters--nor did I. If in person the Unknown couldn’t bring himself to talk on the important subjects that increasingly took up time and space in his letters, well, I could sympathize. There was a person--soon to be king--whom I couldn’t bring myself to face. Anyway, the only mention of current events that I made in my letters was about my own experience. Late one night, when I’d drunk a little too much spiced wine, I poured out my pent-up feelings about my ignorant past, and to my intense relief he returned to me neither scorn nor pity. That did not stop me from going around for a day wary of smiles or fans hiding faces, for I’d realized that though the letters could be pleasant and encouraging, I could very well be providing someone with prime material for gossip. Never before had I felt the disadvantage of not knowing who he was, whereas he knew me by name and sight. But no one treated me any differently than usual; there were no glances of awareness, no bright, superior smiles of those who know a secret. So it appeared he was as benevolent as his letters seemed, yet perfectly content to remain unknown. And I was content to leave it that way.
Sherwood Smith (Court Duel (Crown & Court, #2))
The Queen Who Never Was,” Mushroom calls her. (“What did Viserys ever have that she did not? A little sausage? Is that all it takes to be a king? Let Mushroom rule, then. My sausage is thrice the size of his.”)
George R.R. Martin (Fire & Blood (A Targaryen History #1))
It is all about whether the king is a man of virtue or a scoundrel.
Hector Miller (Goth (The Thrice Named Man, #5))
What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just; And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
William Shakespeare (King Henry VI, Part 2)
From that the talk turned to the great hoard itself and to the things that Thorin and Balin remembered. They wondered if they were still lying there unharmed in the hall below: the spears that were made for the armies of the great King Bladorthin (long since dead), each had a thrice-forged head and their shafts were inlaid with cunning gold, but they were never delivered or paid for; shields made for warriors long dead; the great golden cup of Thror, two-handed, hammered and carven with birds and flowers whose eyes and petals were of jewels; coats of mail gilded and silvered and impenetrable; the necklace of Girion, Lord of Dale, made of five hundred emeralds green as grass, which he gave for the arming of his eldest son in a coat of dwarf-linked rings the like of which had never been made before, for it was wrought of pure silver to the power and strength of triple steel. But fairest of all was the great white gem, which the dwarves had found beneath the roots of the Mountain, the Heart of the Mountain, the Arkenstone of Thrain.
J.R.R. Tolkien (The Hobbit)
kingdom. MAT26.30 And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the mount of Olives. MAT26.31 Then saith Jesus unto them, All ye shall be offended because of me this night: for it is written, I will smite the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock shall be scattered abroad. MAT26.32 But after I am risen again, I will go before you into Galilee. MAT26.33 Peter answered and said unto him, Though all men shall be offended because of thee, yet will I never be offended. MAT26.34 Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, That this night, before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice. MAT26.35 Peter said unto him, Though I should die with thee, yet will I not deny thee. Likewise also said all the disciples.
Anonymous (The Holy Bible, King James Version (KJV))
Ere the horne'd owl hoot Once and twice and thrice there shall Go among the blind brown worms News of thy great burial; When the pomp is passed away, 'Here's a King,' the worms shall say.
Adelaide Crapsey (Verse by Adelaide Crapsey)
According to our Medicinale Anglicum, starvation is a good protection against the plague.” “Right. So not a course of antibiotics, then?” “We must work with what we have, Brother Sebastian. Here’s another cure. Drink a mixture of baby fox’s blood and urine thrice daily in a silver goblet blessed by the king.
Heide Goody (Hellzapoppin' (Clovenhoof #4))
weird ye to be a Laidly Worm, And borrowed shall ye never be, Until Childe Wynd, the King's own son Come to the Heugh and thrice kiss thee; Until the world comes to an end, Borrowed shall ye never be.
Joseph Jacobs (English Fairy Tales)