Quote Bank
The Tempest
Prospero
Be collected.
No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart
There’s no harm done. (Act 1 Scene 2)
Those being all my study,
The government I cast upon my brother
And to my state grew stranger, being transported
And rapt in secret studies. (Act 1 Scene 2)
There they hoist us,
To cry to th’ sea that roared to us, to sigh
To th’ winds whose pity, sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong. (Act 1 Scene 2)
For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps,
Side-stitches that shall pen they breath up. Urchins
Shall forth at vast of night that they may work
All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched
As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging
,Than bees that made ‘em. (Act 1 Scene 2)
My high charms work,
And these, mine enemies, are all knit up
In their distractions. They now are in my power. (Act 3 Scene 3)
All thy vexations
Were by my trials of thy love, and thou
Hast strangely stood the test. Here, afore heaven,
I ratify this my rich gift. (Act 4 Scene 1)
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air.
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself—
Yea, all which it inherit—shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. (Act 4 Scene 1)
But this rough magic
I here abjure, and when I have required
Some heavenly music, which even now I do,
To work mine end upon their senses that
This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,
, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound,
I’ll drown my book. (Act 5 Scene 1)
Miranda
If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. (Act 1 Scene 2)
Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. (Act 1 Scene 2)
I should sin
To think but nobly of my grandmother.
Good wombs have borne bad sons. (Act 1 Scene 2)
I pitied thee,
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
One thing or other. When thou didst not, savage,
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like
A thing most brutish, I endowed thy purposes
With words that made them known. (Act 1 Scene 2)
When this burns,
’Twill weep for having wearied you. (Act 3 Scene 1)
How features are abroad
I am skilless of, but, by my modesty,
The jewel in my dower, I would not wish