Quotes About Honesty

It hurts not the tongue to give fair words.

I hope my noble lord esteems me honest. OTHELLO: Oh, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles, That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst ne'er been born! DESDEMONA: Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed? OTHELLO: Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, Made to write "whore" upon?

Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days; the more the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them friends.

Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound reverbs no hollowness.

That such a slave as this should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these, Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain Which are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every passion That in the natures of their lords rebel, Being oil to the fire, snow to the colder moods, Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.

In thy face I see the map of honour, truth and loyalty.

Too nice, and yet too true!

Thou canst not speak of thou dost not feel.

For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In complement extern 'tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at I am not what I am.

When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies

it is not enough to speak, but to speak true

I will go wash; And when my face is fair, you shall perceive. Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you.

Soft you; a word or two before you go. I have done the state some service, and they know't.— No more of that.—I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely, but too well; Of one not easily jealous, but

His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for's power to thunder. His heart's his mouth: What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; And, being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of Death.

There's no face more sincere than one washed in tears.

if I were the Moor I wouldn't want to be Iago.

I yet beseech your majesty,-- If for I want that glib and oily art, To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I'll do't before I speak,--that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step, That hath deprived me of your grace and favour; But even for want of that for which I am richer, A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking.

I assure thee: setting the attractions of my good parts aside I have no other charms.

O! never say that I was false of heart

Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; nor are those empty-hearted whose low sounds reverb no hollowness.

The Moor is of a free and open nature, That thinks men honest that but seem to be so; And will as tenderly be led by the nose As asses are.

Ay, truly, for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness.

And tell them that I will not come today. "Cannot" is false, and that I dare not, falser. I will not come today. Tell them so