Two Gentlemen Of Verona Quotes

They do not love that do not show their love.

Banish'd from [those we love] Is self from self: a deadly banishment!

That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

She dreams of him that has forgot her love; You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary; And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!

O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away!

At first I did adore a twinkling star But now I worship a celestial sun

You, minion, are too saucy.

To die, is to be banish'd from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her, Is self from self: a deadly banishment! What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? Unless it be to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon; She is my essence, and I leave to be, If I be not by her fair influence Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.

Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.

If you love her, you cannot see her.

What, gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do. It cannot speak, For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it." (2.2.17-19)

Thou art a votary to fond desire

Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. SPEED: And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.

Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee?

Didst thou but know the inly touch of love Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow As seek to quench the fire of love with words. (2.7.18-20)

Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts.

The desire to lift, the willingness to help, and the graciousness to give come from a heart filled with love. The poet wrote, ‘Love is the most noble attribute of the human soul.’ And William Shakespeare cautioned, ‘They do not love who do not show their love’ (Two Gentlemen of Verona, act 1, sc. 2, line 31).

Chapter III ——These are the Villains Whom all the Travellers do fear so much. ———Some of them are Gentlemen, Such as the fury of ungoverned Youth Thrust from the company of awful Men.* Two Gentlemen of Verona.

Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, For 'tis thy rival.

Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.

A man is never undone till he be hang'd.

Love is your master, for he masters you; And he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.

O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple! My master sues to her, and she hath taught her suitor, He being her pupil, to become her tutor. O excellent device! was there ever heard a better, That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter? Valentine. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with yourself? Speed. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason.

No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st Have some malignant power upon my life: If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear, As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

O time most accurst! 'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!

I see things too, although you judge I wink.

Experience is by industry achiev'd, And perfected by the swift course of time.

Hep şunu düşünürüm: Bir adam asılmadıkça sıfırı tüketmiş sayılmaz, ne de birkaç kadeh atılmadan ve meyhaneci kadın hoş geldiniz demezse hoş gelinmiş sayılmaz.

I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words.

I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so.

El amor es tu amo, pues te domina, y quien permite que un loco lo subyugue no merece, creo yo, que se le acepte por cuerdo.

Las doncellas por pudor dicen "no" a aquello que anhelan se interprete por "sí".

La experiencia se logra con trabajo, y el raudo fluir del tiempo la perfecciona.

Si la ama no podrá verla. ―¿Por qué? ―Porque el amor es ciego.

¡Cómo! ¿Se va sin decir palabra? Sí, así debe hacerlo el amor verdadero. No puede hablar.

La sinceridad se expresa mejor en actos que en palabras.

Yo soy el perro. No, el perro es él mismo y yo soy el perro. ¡Caray, el perro soy yo, y yo soy yo mismo!

¿Dónde perdería la lengua? ―En la marea de tu cuento.

Si usted gasta palabra por palabra conmigo, enviaré su ingenio a la quiebra.

Es joven por su edad, pero en experiencia viejo.

El deber cumplido halla siempre recompensa.

Si el hombre que tiene lengua no es capaz de conquistar con ella a una mujer, no es hombre.

¿Y por qué no la muerte, antes que vivir atormentado?

La esperanza es el bastón del amante.

For what I will, I will, and there an end.

And yet you will; and yet another 'yet'.

What's the unkindest tide?

Now no discourse, except it be of Love; Now I can break my fast, dine, sup and sleep Upon the very naked name of Love.

if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.

What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?

Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.

Thus have I shunned the fire for fear of burning, and drenched me in the sea, where I am drowned.

Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom-- Which, unreversed, stands in effectual force-- A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears

If you love her, you cannot see her […] Because love is blind.

Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst

Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping. All the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest-natured dog that lives. My mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting. Why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father. No, this left shoe is my father. No, no, this left shoe is my mother. Nay, that cannot be so neither. Yes, it is so, it is so -- it hath the worser sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father. A vengeance on't! There 'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand. This hat is Nan, our maid. I am the dog. No, the dog is himself, and I am the dog -- O, the dog is me, and I am myself. Ay, so, so. Now come I to my father: 'Father, your blessing.' Now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping. Now should I kiss my father -- well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother. O, that she could speak now like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her -- why, there 'tis: here's my mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a word!

I have done penance for contemning Love; Whose high imperious thoughts have punish’d me with bitter fasts, with penitential groans, with nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; For, in revenge of my contempt for love, Love hath chaos’s sleep from my enthralled eyes and made them watchers of my own heart’s sorrow.

If desire were really one to one, self to self, there would never be a problem of infidelity, but desire will always, without confusion, demand a particular class, Caring for a unique object is an illusion, but the feeling must be unique, and though that feeling may not be natural, it is duty. You must love your neighbour like yourself, uniquely. From the personal point of view, sexual desire, because of its impersonal and unchanging character, is a comic contradiction. The relation between every pair of lovers is unique, but in bet they can only do what all mammals do. All the relation in friendship a relationship of spirit, can be unique. In sexual relationship love the only uniqueness can be fidelity.

Whoreson dog,” “whoreson peasant,” “slave,” “you cur,” “rogue,” “rascal,” “dunghill,” “crack-hemp,” and “notorious villain” — these are a few of the epithets with which the plays abound. The Duke of York accosts Thomas Horner, an armorer, as “base dunghill villain and mechanical” (Henry VI., Part 2, Act 2, Sc. 3); Gloucester speaks of the warders of the Tower as “dunghill grooms” (Ib., Part 1, Act 1, Sc. 3), and Hamlet of the grave-digger as an “ass” and “rude knave.” Valentine tells his servant, Speed, that he is born to be hanged (Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act 1, Sc. 1), and Gonzalo pays a like compliment to the boatswain who is doing his best to save the ship in the “Tempest” (Act 1, Sc. 1). This boatswain is not sufficiently impressed by the grandeur of his noble cargo, and for his pains is called a “brawling, blasphemous, uncharitable dog,” a “cur,” a “whoreson, insolent noise-maker,” and a “wide-chapped rascal.

And why not death rather than living torment? And Silvia is myself; banish'd from her Is self from self, a deadly banishment. What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? Unless it be to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon. She is my essence, and I leave to be If I be not by her fair influence Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom: Tarry I here, I but attend on death; But fly I hence, I fly away from life.

They do not love that do not show their love. O, they love least that let men know their love. (Which camp are you in?)

Most modern scholars now insist that he merely imagined Italy, and that the details he imagined are inaccurate, proof that Shakespeare was never actually there. In The Two Gentlemen of Verona, for instance, he sends the character Valentine from Verona to Milan—two inland cities—by boat. How silly! In fact, the cities of northern Italy were once linked by a network of canals and rivers used frequently by Renaissance merchants and travelers.