I am sure my love’s more ponderous than my tongue.
Blow winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!
Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides, Who covers faults at last with shame derides.
The fishermen that walk upon the beach appear like mice, and yound tall anchoring bark diminished to her cock, her cock a buoy almost too small for sight.
I am bound upon a whell of fire, that mine own tears do scald like molten lead.
Th’hast spoken right. ‘Tis true the whell is come full circle; I am here.
Dost thou squinny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid, I’ll not love.”
Gods, gods! ‘Tis stange that from their cold’st neglect my love should kindle to inflamed respect.
I am a man more sinned against than sinning.
Fairest Cordelia, thou art most rich being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most love, despised.
We too alone will sing like birds i’ th’ cage.
But for all this thou shalt have as many dolors for thy daughters love as thou canst tell in a year.
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!
KENT: They younges daughter does not love thee least, nor are these empty-hearted whose low sounds reverb no hollowness.
LEAR: Kent, on they life, no more.
The revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for you beholding.
How malicious is my fourtune that I must repent to be just!
How, howl, howls! O, you are men of stones! Had I your tongues and eyes, I’d use them so that heaven’s vault should crack.
Change places and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief?
I stumbled when I saw
I am better than thou are now, I am a fool, thou art nothing
O, matter and impertinency mix’d, reason in madness!