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Fallen Greatness: Quotations from Shakespearian Quotations
'Tis a sufferance, panging As soul and body's severing.— H. VIII. ii. 3
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye; I feel my heart new opened: O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars and women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.— H. VIII. iii. 2
But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might Have stood against the world: now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.— J.C. iii. 2
O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more : Fortune and Antony part here; even here Do we shake hands. - All come to this? The hearts That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets On blossoming Cæsar; and this pine is bark'd That over-topp'd them all.— A.C. iv. 10
High events as these Strike those that make them: and their story is No less in pity, than his glory, which A.C.v.2 Brought them to be lamented. Nay then, farewell! I've touch'd the highest point of all my greatness! And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting. I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.— H. VIII. iii. 2
Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers? Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy? Who sues, and kneels, and says-God save the queen ? Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee? Decline all this, and see what now thou art.— R. III. iv. 4
A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place,— M. ii. 4
Was, by a mousing owl, hawk'd at, and kill'd. An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither He sends so poor a pinion of his wing, Which had superfluous kings for messengers, Not many moons gone by.— A. C. iii. 10
O wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fallen; young boys, and girls Are level now with men; the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.— A. C. iv. 13
O mighty Cæsar! Dost thou lie so low ? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure?— J. C. iii. 1
'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, Must fall out with men too: What the declin'd is, He shall as soon read in the eyes of others, As feel in his own fall: -for men, like butterflies, Show not their mealy wings but to the summer.— T.C. iii. 3
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders, These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken A load would sink a navy, too much honour: O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. H. VIII. iii. 2 My lord of Winchester, you are a little, By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble, However faulty, yet should find respect, For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty, To load a falling man.— H. VIII. v. 2
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him; For then, and not till then, he felt himself, And found the blessedness of being little.— H. VIII. iv. 2
What, amazed At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder, A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, I am fallen indeed.— H. VIII. iii. 2
There was the weight that pull'd me down. O Cromwell. The king has gone beyond me, all my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever: No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now To be thy lord and master.— H. VIII. iii. 2.
Brave Percy: Fare thee well, great heart! Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! When that this body did contain a spirit, A kingdom for it was too small a bound; But now, two paces of the vilest earth Is room enough.— H. IV. PT. I. v. 4
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs, Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes, Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let's choose executors, and talk of wills: And yet not so, for what can we bequeath, Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own, but death; And that small model of the barren earth, Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For heaven's sake let us sit upon the ground, And tell sad stories of the death of kings: How some have been depos'd, some slain in war;- Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd; Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd; All murder'd.— R.. II. iii. 2
O, my lord, Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue: His faults Le oren to the laws; let them, Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him So little of his great self.— H. VIII. iii. 2.
I must now forsake ye; the last hour Of my long weary life is come upon me. Farewell: And when you would say something that is sad,— Speak how I fell.
Pry'thee go hence, Or I shall show the cinders of my spirit Through the ashes of my chance.— A.C.v. 2.
Now boast thee, death! in thy possession lies A lass unparallel'd.-Downy windows, close; And golden Phœbus never be beheld Of eyes again so royal!— A.C. v. 2.