Measure for Measure

Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.

Go to your bosom; Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.

Life... is a paradise to what we fear of death.

It is excellent / To have a giant's strenght / But it is tyrannous / To use it like a giant (Isabella)

But man, proud man, Dress'd in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd— His glassy essence—like an angry ape Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal.

What's his offense? Groping for trout in a peculiar river.

Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all! Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall: Some run from brakes of ice, and answer none: And some condemned for a fault alone.

O, it is excellent To have a giant's strenght, but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.

Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.

I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him.

He who the sword of heaven will bear Should be as holy as severe; Pattern in himself to know, Grace to stand, and virtue go; More nor less to others paying Than by self-offences weighing. Shame to him whose cruel striking Kills for faults of his own liking! Twice treble shame on Angelo, To weed my vice and let his grow! O, what may man within him hide, Though angel on the outward side! How may likeness made in crimes, Making practise on the times, To draw with idle spiders' strings Most ponderous and substantial things! Craft against vice I must apply: With Angelo to-night shall lie His old betrothed but despised; So disguise shall, by the disguised, Pay with falsehood false exacting, And perform an old contracting.

The miserable have no other medicine But only hope: I have hope to live, and am prepared to die.

Music oft hath such a charm To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.

Our doubts are traitors And make us lose the good we oft might win

And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

Let me hear you speak farther. I have spirit to do anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.

I had as lief have the foppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment.

From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty As surfeit is the father of much fast, So every scope of the immoderate use Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, - Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, - A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.

The miserable have no other medicine But only hope: I've hope to live, and am prepared to die.

Life is better life past fearing death, Than that which lives to fear.

Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, Another thing to fall." - Angelo, Act 2 Scene 1

That in the captain's but a choleric word, Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

Merely, thou art death's fool, For him thou labor'st by thy flight to shun, And yet run'st toward him still.

What's yet in this That bears the name of life? Yet in this life Lie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even.

Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right; we would and we would not.