There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am armed so strong in honesty That they pass by me as the idle wind

O how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, that sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, more pangs and fears than wars or women have, and when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again.

But jealous souls will not be answered so, They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they're jealous. 'Tis a monster Begot upon itself, born on itself.

Let me have men about me that are fat... Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Trust not your daughter's minds By what you see them act.

Look on beauty, and you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight.

He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.