Othello

by William Shakespeare

In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;

are now making the beast with two backs.

Not I; I must be found; My parts, my title, and my perfect soul 35 Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?

Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.— Good signior, you shall more command with years Than with your weapons.

She lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d; And I lov’d her that she did pity them.

To see you here before me. O my soul’s joy! If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken’d death!

He that stirs next to carve for his own rage 165 Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion.—

Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial.—My reputation, Iago, my reputation!

Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit and lost without deserving: you have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man!

O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!

If I have any grace or power to move you, His present reconciliation take; For if he be not one that truly loves you, That errs in ignorance and not in cunning,

I will deny thee nothing.

Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock

But jealous souls will not be answer’d so; They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they are jealous: ’tis a monster Begot upon itself, born on itself.

It is the very error of the moon; She comes more nearer earth than she was wont And makes men mad.

I am not sorry neither: I’d have thee live; For, in my sense, ’tis happiness to die.

I kiss’d thee ere I kill’d thee:—no way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. [Falling upon DESDEMONA.]