“I have no spurTo prick the sides of my intent, but onlyVaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itselfAnd falls on the other.”

“I thrice presented him a kingly crown. Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?”

“By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.”

“O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams." Which dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.”

“This is the very ecstasy of love,Whose violent property fordoes itselfAnd leads the will to desperate undertakingsAs oft as any passion under heavenThat does afflict our natures.”

“Which dreams, indeed, are ambition, for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.”

“Give me my robe, put on my crown; I haveImmortal longings in me: now no moreThe juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip:Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hearAntony call; I see him rouse himselfTo praise my noble act; I hear him mockThe luck of Caesar, which the gods give menTo excuse their after wrath: husband, I come:Now to that name my courage prove my title!I am fire and air; my other elementsI give to baser life. So; have you done?Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.Kisses them. IRAS falls and diesHave I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall?If thou and nature can so gently part,The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,Which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still?If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the worldIt is not worth leave-taking.”