Dancing Young Men From High Windows

You Are Invited to a Lifestyle of Friendship

Measure for Measure

<romantic love is nearly absent in this play, except as bawd. It is taken over by justice/God’s love. Most of the references to sight in this play have to do with seeing justice “correctly” or reasoning “correctly. Still…>


Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love.


Troilus and Cressida


What are you reading?


A strange fellow here

Writes me that man, how dearly ever parted,

How much in having, or without or in,

Cannot make boast to have that which he hath,

Nor feels not what he owes but by reflection;

As when his virtues shining upon others

Heat them, and they retort that heat again

To the first giver.


This is not strange, Ulysses.

The beauty that is borne here in the face

The bearer knows not, but commends itself

To others’ eyes; nor doth the eye itself,

That most pure spirit of sense, behold itself,

Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed

Salutes each other with each other’s form;

For speculation turns not to itself

Till it hath traveled and is married there

Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all.


I do not strain at the position —

It is familiar — but at the author’s drift;

Who in his circumstance expressly proves

That no man is the lord of anything —

Though in and of him there be much consisting —

Till he communicate his parts to others;

Nor doth he of himself know them for aught

Till he behold them formed in th’applause

Where they’re extended; who, like an arch, reverb’rate

The voice again, or, like a gate of steel

Fronting the sun, receives and renders back

His figure and his heat.


Twelfth Night


I left no ring with her. What means this lady?

Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her.

She made good view of me; indeed, so much

That, as methought, her eyes had lost her tongue,

For she did speak in starts distractedly.

She loves me sure; the cunning of her passion

Invites me in this churlish messenger.

None of my lord’s ring? Why, he sent her none.

I am the man. If it be so, as ’tis,

Poor lady, she were better love a dream.

Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness

Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.

How easy is it for the proper false

In women’s waxen hearts to set their forms!




This was your husband. Look you now what follows.

Here is your husband, like a mildewed ear

Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?

Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,

And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?

You cannot call it love, for at your age

The heydey in the blood is tame, it’s humble,

And waits upon the judgment, and what judgment

Would step from this to this? Sense sure you have,

Else could you not have motion, but sure that sense

Is apoplexed, for madness would not err,

Nor sense to ecstasy was ne’er so thralled

But it reserved some quantity of choice

To serve in such a difference. What devil was’t

That thus hath cozened you at hoodman-blind?

Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,

Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,

Or but a sickly part of one true sense

Could not so mope.


As You Like It


‘Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her,

And out of you she sees herself more proper

Than any of her lineaments can see her.


Julius Caesar


No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself

But by reflection, by some other things.


‘Tis just;

And it is very much lamented Brutus,

That you have no such mirrors as will turn

Your hidden worthiness into your eye,

That you might see your shadow. I have heard

Where many of the best respect in Rome–

Except immortal Caesar–speaking of Brutus,

And groaning underneath this age’s yoke,

Have wished that noble Brutus had his eyes.


Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,

That you would have me seek into myself

For that which is not in me?


Therefor good Brutus, be prepared to hear.

And since you know you cannot see yourself

So well as by reflection, I , your glass,

Will modestly discover to yourself

That of yourself which you yet know not of.

I.ii. 54-72

King Henry V


If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sunburning, that never looks in his glass for love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook.



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