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Man: Quotations from Shakespearian Quotations

What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form, and moving, how express and admirable! in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the world! the para gon of animals !— H. ii. 2.

f They say, best men are moulded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better,— M. M. V. 1

For being a little bad. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves are clep'd, All by the name of dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The house-keeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous Nature Hath in him clos'd; whereby he doth receive Particular addition, from the bill That writes them all alike: and so of men. We came crying hither.— K. L. iv. 6.

Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be.— H. iv. 5.

Know thou this:-that men Are as the time is.— K. L. v. 3

O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God! Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast; Ready, with every nod, to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep.— R. III. iii. 4.

This was the noblest Roman of them all: All the conspirators, save only he, Did that they did in envy of great Cæsar; He, only, in a general honest thought, And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle; and the elements So mix'd in him, that nature might stand up, And say to all the world, This was a man!— J.C. v. 5.

..s man no more than this?— K. L. iii 4

A breath thou art, (Servile to all the skiey influences), That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, Hourly afflict; merely, thou art death's fool; For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, And yet runn'st toward him still: Thou art not noble: For all the accommodations that thou bear'st, Are nurs'd by baseness: Thou art by no means valiant; For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork Of a poor worm: Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains That issue out of dust: Happy thou art not; For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get : And what thou hast, forget'st: Thou art not certain; For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, After the moon: If thou art rich, thou art poor; For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, Till death unloads thee: Friend hast thou none; For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, The mere effusion of thy proper loins, Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, For ending thee no sooner: Thou hast nor youth, nor ag But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and does beg the alms Of palsied eld; and when thou art old, and rich, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this, That bears the name of life? Yet in this life Lie hid more thousand deaths: yet death we fear,— M. M. iii. 1

That makes these odds all even. Foolish wench! To the most of men this is a Caliban,— T. i. 2

And they to him are angels.— K. L. iv. 2.

O the difference of man and man! God made him, therefore let him pass for a man. M. V. i. 2 There is no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.— R. J. iii. 2

A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity; but you, gods, will give us— A. C. v. 1.

Some faults to make us men. When we are born, we cry, that we are come To this great stage of fools.— K. L. iv. 6.

He was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For 'tis a throne where honor may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth.— R. J. iii. 2.

He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.— H. i. 2.

You rogne, here's lime in this sack too: There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man.— H. IV. PT. I. ii. 4.

Every man is odd. Who lives, that's not Depraved, or depraves? who dies, that bears Not one spurn to their graves of their friends' gift?— T. 4. i 2.

Man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.— M. A. v. 4.

Manhood Deteriorated

But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie, and swears to it.— M. 4, iv, 1

Shakespearion Dictionary.