| I thought the king had | more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall |
| Conferring | them on younger strengths |
| Our | daughters’ several dowers |
| Which of | you shall we say doth love us most? |
| Dearer | than eyesight, space, liberty |
| Here I | disclaim all my paternal care |
| Come not | between the dragon and his wrath |
| When majesty | falls to folly – Kent |
| Her price | is fallen |
| You have so | lost a father that you must lose a husband |
| For we have no | such daughter, nor shall we ever see that face of hers again |
| Time shall | unfold what plighted cunning hides |
| Why brand | they us with base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? |
| Our father’s love is | to the bastard Edmund as to th’ legitimate. Fine word, ‘legitimate’! |
| I grow, | I prosper |
| O, villain | villain! … Unnatural, detested, brutish |
| I am better than | thou art now, I am a fool, thou art nothing |
| The hedge | sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, that it’s had it head bit off by it young |
| “asham’d” | “shake my manhood” |
| these | hot tears |
| Thou should’st | not have been old till thou had’st been wise |
| your purpos’d low | low correction is such as basest and contemned’st wretches |
| O how | this mother swells up toward my heart |
| Cry to it | nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ’em i’th’ paste alive |
| You should | be rul’d and led |
| I will preserve | myself… to take the basest and most poorest shape |
| Poor Tom! | That’s something yet: Edgar I nothing am |
| If you do | love old men… send down and take my part |
| thou art a | boil, a plague-sore, or embossed carbuncle |
| What should | you need of more? – Regan |
| O reason | not the need! |
| Allow not | nature more than nature needs, man’s life is as cheap as beast’s |
| Stirs these | daughters’ hearts against their father |
| let not | women’s weapons, water-drops, stain my man’s cheeks! |
| I will do | such things… they shall be the terrors of the earth |
| the heart shall | break into a hundred thousand flaws |
| Tis’ his own | blame… and must needs taste his folly – Goneril |
| A heath | A storm, with thunder and lightning |
| This scatter’d | kingdom – Kent |
| Blow, winds, | And crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow! |
| you elements, | with unkindness… I never gave you kingdom, call’d you children |
| servile | ministers |
| I am a | man more sinn’d against than sinning |
| The younger | rises when the old doth fall – Edmund |
| Most savage | and unnatural – Edmund |
| the tempest in | my mind doth from my senses take all feeling else |
| O, I have | ta’en too little care of this |
| Expose | thyself to feel what wretches feel |
| Man is | no more but such a poor, bare forked animal |
| I’ll go to | bed at noon |
| He childed | as I father’d |
| Pluck | out his eyes |
| I’ll fetch some | flax and whites of eggs to apply to his bleeding face |
| As flies | to wanton boys, are we to th’ gods, they kill us for their sport |
| Bless thy | sweet eyes, they bleed – Edgar |
| Tigers, | not daughters – Albany |
| Thou art a fiend, | a woman’s shape doth shield thee – Albany |
| Holy water | from heavenly eyes |
| Sunshine | and rain |
| Smiles | and tears |
| Dog | hearted daughters |
| Burning | shame detains him from Cordelia |
| Crown’d with | rank fumier and furrow-weeds |
| O dear father! | It is thy business that I go about |
| No blown ambition doth | our arms incite, but love |
| Enter Gloucester | and Edgar dressed like a peasant |
| Fie, fie | fie! pah, pah! |
| I am a king, | masters, know you that? |
| Come not near | th’old man: keep out – Edgar |
| Restoration | hang thy medicine on my lips |
| Thou art | a soul in bliss |
| We two | alone will sing like birds i’th’ cage |
| A brand | from heaven |
| Let’s | exchange charity |
| I am no | less in blood than thou art, Edmund |
| The gods are just, | and of our pleasant vices make instruments to plague us |
| The wheel | is come full circle |
| Twixt two | extremes of passion, joy and grief |
| Some good I mean | to do despite of mine own nature |
| The gods | defend her |
| Enter Lear, | with Cordelia (dead) in his arms |
| Mine eyes | are not o’ th’ best |
| All friends | shall taste… the cups of their deservings – Albany |
| Why should a dog, | a horse, a rat, have life and thou no breath at all? |
| This tough | world – Kent |
| Never, never, | never, never, never! |
| If Edgar | live, O bless him |
| Thy life’s | a miracle |
| A most | poor man, made tame to fortune’s blows |
| you have | many opportunities to cut him off (Albany) |
| If I could bear it longer | and not fall quarrel with your great opposeless wills |
| my… | loathed part of nature should burn itself out |
| it was | some fiend |
| the clearest gods, who make | them honours of men’s impossibilities have preserved thee |
| I am even | the natural fool of fortune – Lear |
King Lear Quotes
July 15, 2019