Troilus and Cressida
Troilus and Cressida
Troilus and Cressida is a tragicomedy by William Shakespeare, likely written in 1602, set during the Trojan War. The play follows the doomed love affair between Troilus, a Trojan prince, and Cressida, the daughter of a Trojan priest who ultimately betrays her people. It explores complex themes of love, honor, war, and betrayal, while alternating between comedic and tragic tones. Often regarded as one of Shakespeare's 'problem plays,' it raises questions about the nature of human relationships amid conflict.
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“For to be wise and love exceeds man's might.””
— William Shakespeare
“I am a bastard, too. I love bastards! I am bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valor, in everything illegitimate.””
— William Shakespeare
“Thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.””
— William Shakespeare
“Farewell, bastard.””
— William Shakespeare
“Modest doubt is call'd the beacon of the wise.””
— William Shakespeare
“Take but degree away, untune that string,And, hark, what discord follows!””
— William Shakespeare
“Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves.””
— William Shakespeare
“He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood beget hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love.””
— William Shakespeare
“Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done: perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright: to have done is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; For honour travels in a strait so narrow,Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; For emulation hath a thousand sons That one by one pursue: if you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush byAnd leave you hindmost; Or like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, O'er-run and trampled on: then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours; For time is like a fashionable host That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time.””
— William Shakespeare
