Caesar: The ides of March are come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; but not gone.
Caesar: Et tu, Brute!
Calpurnia: When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.
Cassius: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Mark Antony: Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears! I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
Brutus: Not that I lov'd Caesar less, but that I lov'd Rome more.
Caesar: Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar! Cinna: Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.
Caesar:
Let me have men about me that are fat, Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights. Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look, He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.
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