Twelfth Night: Or What You Will

Orsino:
There's for thy pains.

Feste:
No pains, sir: I take pleasure in singing, sir.

Orsino:
I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Feste:
Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

Duke Orsino of Illyria:
If music be the food of love, play on.

Olivia:
Why, this is very midsummer's madness.

Malvolio:
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.

Sir Toby Belch:
Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Cesario:
Dost thou live by thy music, friend?

Feste:
No, sir, I live by the church.

Cesario:
Art thou a churchman?

Feste:
No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

Malvolio:
My masters, are you mad? Have ye no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's house? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?

Maria:
Go shake your ears!

Sir Andrew:
I was adored once too.

Feste:
Good madonna, why mournest thou?

Olivia:
Good fool, for my brother's death.

Feste:
I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

Olivia:
I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

Feste:
The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven.

Olivia:
I heard you were saucy at my gates, and allowed your approach rather to wonder at you than to hear you.

Duke Orsino:
If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, I shall have share in this most happy wreck.

Duke Orsino:
Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times thou never shouldst love woman like to me.

Cesario:
And all those sayings will I overswear.

Duke Orsino:
Give me thy hand. Your master quits you; and for your service done him, so much against the mettle of your sex, here is my hand: you shall from this time be Your master's mistress.

Malvolio:
I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you.

Feste:
And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

Olivia:
Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!

Maria:
By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight that you brought here to be her wooer.

Sir Toby Belch:
Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

Maria:
Ay, he.

Sir Toby Belch:
He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

Maria:
What's that to the purpose?

Malvolio:
Were not you even now with the Countess Olivia?

Cesario:
Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.

Malvolio:
She returns this ring to you, sir: you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. Receive it so.

Cesario:
She took the ring of me? I'll none of it.

Malvolio:
Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it.

Sebastian:
I prithee, vent thy folly somewhere else: Thou know'st not me.

Feste:
Vent my folly! Tell me what I shall vent to my lady: shall I vent to her that thou art coming?