The most-quoted lines from the play, with a plain-English paraphrase, who said it and when, and a couple of sentences on why it matters. Filter by character, theme, or act — or scroll the lot.
A crack, madam.
A crack, madam.
Virgilia · Act 1, Scene 3
Virgilia responds to Valeria's praise of her son with a single word that means a remarkable child—one of unusual quality and promise. The brevity matters because it is Virgilia's quiet acknowledgment of what her child is becoming, without the celebration her mother-in-law offers. It shows a mother's mixture of pride and dread, knowing her son will inherit his father's nature and all that comes with it.
O’ my word, the father’s son: I’ll swear,’tis a very pretty boy. O’ my troth, I looked upon him o’ Wednesday half an hour together: has such a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded butterfly: and when he caught it, he let it go again; and after it again; and over and over he comes, and again; catched it again; or whether his fall enraged him, or how ’twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it; O, I warrant it, how he mammocked it!
Oh, I swear, the father’s son: I’ll swear, he’s a really cute boy. Oh, honestly, I looked at him for half an hour on Wednesday: he has such a serious face. I saw him chase after a shiny butterfly: and when he caught it, he let it go again; and chased it again; and over and over he came back, and again; caught it again; or whether falling made him angry, or whatever it was, he gritted his teeth and tore it up; oh, I bet you, how he shredded it!
Valeria · Act 1, Scene 3
Valeria recounts watching young Marcius tear apart a gilded butterfly he had chased and caught, tearing it to pieces in frustration or rage. The anecdote sticks because it shows the child embodying his father's violent nature in miniature—he tears things apart because that is what his blood teaches him to do. It suggests that Coriolanus's nature is not a choice but an inheritance, hardwired into him before he could understand the world.
Fool-hardiness; not I.
Foolish bravery; not me.
First Soldier · Act 1, Scene 4
A Roman soldier refuses to follow Marcius through the open gates of Corioli, calling his boldness reckless. The line resonates because it names the divide between true courage and self-destruction—the soldier will not throw his life away for glory. It establishes that Coriolanus stands alone in his willingness to risk everything, a trait that defines both his greatness and his danger.
O noble fellow! Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword, And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius: A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier Even to Cato’s wish, not fierce and terrible Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks and The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the world Were feverous and did tremble.
Oh, what a noble man! Who bravely challenges his dull sword, And, when it drops, stands tall again. You’re left behind, Marcius: A gem as big as you are, Wouldn’t be as valuable. You were a soldier Even to Cato’s liking, not just fierce and terrible In your strikes; but with your grim looks and The thunderous sounds you made, You made your enemies tremble, as if the world Was sick and shaking.
Titus Lartius · Act 1, Scene 4
Lartius emerges from the city to see Marcius still alive and fighting, and he erupts into praise so elaborate it renders Marcius almost superhuman. The speech endures because it captures the moment when a soldier becomes a legend—he is transformed into something more than a man, a force of nature that makes enemies tremble. Lartius's wonder defines the gap between Coriolanus and ordinary soldiers, a gap Coriolanus himself will come to resent.
See, they have shut him in.
Look, they’ve trapped him inside.
First Soldier · Act 1, Scene 4
The soldiers realize Marcius has been trapped inside the city gates after charging in alone to pursue the enemy. The line lands because it marks the moment when his isolation becomes literal and physical—he is separated from his own army, dependent now only on his own strength. It shows how his contempt for ordinary limits has put him beyond the reach of allies and safety.
Thou worthiest Marcius!
You most deserving Marcius!
Titus Lartius · Act 1, Scene 5
Lartius bids farewell to Marcius with a simple declaration of his worth, honoring both the man and what he has accomplished. The brevity matters because after all the elaborate praise, this final line is a pure statement of respect and affection from one soldier to another. It is the last moment of uncomplicated loyalty Marcius will receive, before politics begins to corrupt his relationships.
Worthy sir, thou bleed’st; Thy exercise hath been too violent for A second course of fight.
Worthy sir, you’re bleeding; You’ve been fighting too hard for A second round of battle.
Titus Lartius · Act 1, Scene 5
Lartius expresses concern that Marcius has lost too much blood to fight again immediately after his brutal victory at Corioli. The line matters because it shows genuine care from someone who understands both the cost of war and Marcius's hunger for more—it is one of the few moments where someone close to him acknowledges his limits. It reminds us that even those who admire him most wish he would be willing to rest.
The citizens of Corioli have issued, And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle: I saw our party to their trenches driven, And then I came away.
The citizens of Corioli have come out, And given battle to Lartius and to Marcius: I saw our men pushed back to their trenches, And then I left.
Messenger · Act 1, Scene 6
A messenger arrives to report that the Volscians have come out to fight Lartius and Marcius in open battle, contrary to expectations. The news matters because it changes the stakes of the war—what began as a siege now becomes a direct confrontation, and Marcius's chance to prove himself grows larger. It sets up the moment when his individual power can determine the outcome of the entire campaign.
In troth, there’s wondrous things spoke of him.
Truly, people are saying amazing things about him.
Valeria · Act 2, Scene 1
Valeria tells Menenius that extraordinary stories are being told about Coriolanus's deeds in the war, confirming his reputation for greatness. The statement matters because it shows how quickly a soldier's actions become legend—word of Coriolanus spreads through Rome even before he returns, building expectation and awe. It sets the stage for the political conflict to come, since a man so celebrated will be difficult to control.
He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest man’s voice.
He’s acted nobly, and no honest person can deny his worth.
Sixth Citizen · Act 2, Scene 3
A citizen declares that Coriolanus has earned the support of every honest person through his deeds, and no one can deny his worth. The line resonates because it asserts that honor creates obligation—past service calls for present gratitude. It represents the voice of the people at their most reasonable, acknowledging genuine merit and attempting to honor it.
I cannot bring / My tongue to such a pace
I can't get my tongue to move that slowly
Caius Marcius Coriolanus · Act 2, Scene 3
Coriolanus is trying and failing to flatter the people in the marketplace, the central test the play demands of him. The line endures because it captures his absolute refusal to perform—not from virtue but from an inability to speak anything but his truth. His unwillingness to bend his tongue becomes the hinge on which his entire fate turns.
We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no power to do; for if he show us his wounds and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those wounds and speak for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful, were to make a monster of the multitude: of the which we being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members.
We have the power to do it, but it’s a power we can’t really use; because if he shows us his wounds and tells us what he’s done, we have to put our words into those wounds and speak on his behalf; so, if he tells us about his noble actions, we have to tell him how much we admire them. Ingratitude is terrible, and if the people were ungrateful, it would turn them into monsters: and as members of that people, we would make ourselves monstrous too.
Third Citizen · Act 2, Scene 3
A citizen acknowledges that the people have the right to vote but also recognizes that refusing a man of such valor would be ingratitude so profound it would make monsters of them all. The passage endures because it articulates the moral bind the people feel—they can technically deny Coriolanus, but doing so would violate their own sense of honor and obligation. It shows the common people wrestling with what justice actually requires of them.
We may, sir, if we will.
We can, sir, if we want to.
Second Citizen · Act 2, Scene 3
A citizen asserts that the people have the power to vote as they choose, refusing to be told what their duty requires. The line resonates because it claims popular sovereignty in a moment when they are being pressured by their tribunes—the people know they have power, even if they do not always know how to use it wisely. It captures both the potential and the danger of rule by the many.
His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for's power to thunder.
His character is too noble for this world: He wouldn't flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jupiter for his power to thunder.
Menenius Agrippa · Act 3, Scene 1
Menenius speaks these lines after Coriolanus has been driven from Rome, recognizing that his integrity has destroyed him. The observation is painful and true: Coriolanus's greatest virtue—his refusal to compromise or flatter—is also his fatal flaw in a world that demands flexibility. It defines the tragedy not as moral failure but as a mismatch between the man and his time.
Peace, peace!
Quiet, quiet!
The Aedile · Act 3, Scene 1
The aedile tries to restore order as Coriolanus and the tribunes clash violently in the street, with citizens arming themselves and shouting for his death. The repetition lands because it captures the futility of calling for calm in a moment when rage has already taken hold of the city. It reminds us that once political violence begins, words alone cannot stop what anger has set in motion.
What is the city but the people?
What is the city if not the people?
Sicinius Velutus · Act 3, Scene 1
Sicinius speaks this line as he incites the crowd to turn against Coriolanus after a violent confrontation. The question cuts to the heart of the play's central conflict: whether a state belongs to its military hero or its people. It is memorable because it sounds simple but contains an entire political philosophy that justifies the tribunes' actions and sets the stage for Coriolanus's downfall.
You might have been enough the man you are / With striving less to be so
You could have been enough of the man you are / Without trying so hard to be that way
Volumnia · Act 3, Scene 2
Volumnia rebukes her son for his excessive pride after his political catastrophe, offering a mother's hard truth. The line cuts because it suggests that his ambition and his nature are not the same thing, and that he has driven both to extremes. It reveals how deeply Volumnia has shaped him and how little she can stop him even when she sees the danger clearly.
You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air
You common pack of dogs! I hate your breath As much as the smell of the rotten swamps, whose love I value As much as the dead bodies of men left unburied That pollute my air
Caius Marcius Coriolanus · Act 3, Scene 3
Coriolanus unleashes his contempt for the people at the moment of his final banishment, letting his true feelings pour out without restraint. The imagery is violent and unforgettable: the people are not human to him, their love is filth. This is the line that proves the tribunes and the people correct: he truly does despise them, and his contempt is the force that destroys him.
There is a world elsewhere.
There's a whole world out there.
Caius Marcius Coriolanus · Act 3, Scene 3
Coriolanus speaks these words as he is banished from Rome, asserting his independence and freedom from the city that has rejected him. The line is powerful in its simplicity and defiance: it suggests that he is larger than Rome, that exile is escape rather than punishment. Yet the play proves the assertion false: there is no world elsewhere for him, only the Volscians and his own nature.
Now we have shown our power, Let us seem humbler after it is done Than when it was a-doing.
Now that we’ve shown our strength, Let’s act more humble after it’s over Than we did while it was happening.
Brutus · Act 4, Scene 2
Brutus advises his fellow tribune Sicinius to appear modest now that they have successfully banished Coriolanus, after being openly aggressive during the conflict. The line matters because it reveals the tribunes' cynicism—their power was always performative, and they know how to shift their appearance to suit the moment. It shows us that in politics, the image of virtue is more important than its substance.
A goodly house: the feast smells well; but I Appear not like a guest.
A fine house. The feast smells good, but I Don't feel like I'm a guest here.
Caius Marcius Coriolanus · Act 4, Scene 5
Coriolanus arrives at Aufidius's house in disguise and speaks this line as he stands outside the feast, separate and unrecognized. It captures his eternal separation: even in a place that should welcome him, he cannot belong. The line marks the moment before his extraordinary offer to Aufidius—and it shows a man utterly without a home.
O Marcius, Marcius! Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart A root of ancient envy.
Oh Marcius, Marcius! Every word you've said has pulled an old root of envy from my heart.
Tullus Aufidius · Act 4, Scene 5
Aufidius's response when Coriolanus unmasks himself and offers to serve the Volscians is one of the play's most electrifying moments. The line reveals that the ancient hatred between these two men can transform into something that looks like love. Aufidius's emotion is genuine in this moment, making his later betrayal all the more tragic and all the more human.
The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let’s home. I ever said we were i’ the wrong when we banished him.
The gods help us! Come, masters, let’s go home. I always said we were wrong when we banished him.
First Citizen · Act 4, Scene 6
A citizen, learning that the Volscians have invaded, admits that he always believed the banishment of Coriolanus was wrong and wishes he could take it back. The confession matters because it shows the people suddenly aware of their own mistake—they thought they were asserting their power, but they were destroying their protector. It is the moment Rome begins to understand what it has lost.
You are sent for to the senate: A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius Associated with Aufidius, rages Upon our territories; and have already O’erborne their way, consumed with fire, and took What lay before them.
You’ve been summoned to the senate: A terrifying army, led by Caius Marcius, Joined with Aufidius, is rampaging Through our lands; they have already Overrun everything, burned it with fire, and taken Whatever was in their path.
Second Messenger · Act 4, Scene 6
A messenger brings Rome the first confirmed report that Coriolanus has joined Aufidius and is marching an army directly toward the city. The words land because they announce the catastrophe Rome has created—the man they banished now leads the forces they most feared. It marks the point of no return: Rome must now face the full consequence of its choice to exile its greatest defender.
He holds her by the hand, silent
[Stage direction: He holds her by the hand, silent.]
Caius Marcius Coriolanus · Act 5, Scene 3
This stage direction appears after Volumnia's greatest speech—the moment when all words have been exhausted and only touch remains. The silence is the most eloquent moment in the play: a man and his mother, wordless, understanding everything. It is both the apex of his humanity and the beginning of his end, for from this moment his death is certain.
O mother, mother! What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at.
Oh mother, mother! What have you done? Look, the heavens open, The gods look down, and they laugh at this unnatural scene.
Caius Marcius Coriolanus · Act 5, Scene 3
Volumnia succeeds where Rome failed: she persuades her son to spare the city by appearing before him with his wife and child. Coriolanus's cry captures the moment his resolve breaks—not through defeat but through love. The line is the play's emotional center, where the man who could not bend for his city bends for his mother, sealing his doom.
As certain as I know the sun is fire: Where have you lurk’d, that you make doubt of it? Ne’er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you!
As certain as I know the sun is fire: Where have you been hiding, that you doubt it? Never did the rushing tide move faster through an arch, As the relieved people moved through the gates. Why, listen!
Second Messenger · Act 5, Scene 4
The messenger swears to the truth of the news with absolute certainty, mocking anyone who doubts it. The declaration matters because after months of fear and uncertainty, Rome hears unshakeable confirmation that the threat has been lifted. The messenger's confidence restores hope and allows the city to believe in its own survival again.
Good news, good news; the ladies have prevail’d, The Volscians are dislodged, and Marcius gone: A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins.
Good news, good news; the ladies have succeeded, The Volscians have been driven out, and Marcius is gone: A happier day has never greeted Rome, No, not even the expulsion of the Tarquins.
Second Messenger · Act 5, Scene 4
A messenger arrives in Rome with the extraordinary news that Volumnia has persuaded Coriolanus to spare the city and make peace. The report carries weight because it confirms that a mother's plea succeeded where senators and generals could not—family loyalty proved stronger than military ambition and revenge. It is a moment of genuine salvation for Rome, though the cost to Coriolanus will be his life.
The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes, Tabours and cymbals and the shouting Romans, Make the sun dance. Hark you!
The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, Make the sun itself seem to dance. Listen!
Second Messenger · Act 5, Scene 4
The messenger describes the overwhelming sound of celebration filling Rome as the news spreads through the streets and gates. The image lands because it captures the physical reality of joy—Rome is not silent, but loud with relief and gratitude for Volumnia's victory. The entire city is animated by what one woman and her family have achieved through love.
Bear from hence his body; And mourn you for him: let him be regarded As the most noble corse that ever herald Did follow to his urn.
Take his body away from here, And mourn for him. Let him be remembered As the most honorable dead man ever Who a herald has led to his final resting place.
First Lord · Act 5, Scene 6
The play's final words of judgment come not from the victor but from the state's leadership, according Coriolanus the honor his pride always demanded. He receives in death what he could never receive in life: universal recognition and respect. The line is both elegy and epitaph, restoring to him the dignity that his nature and the world's demands conspired to strip away.
Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!
Unmeasurable liar, you have made my heart Too great for what it can hold. Boy! Oh, slave!
Caius Marcius Coriolanus · Act 5, Scene 6
Coriolanus explodes at Aufidius's betrayal in the final scene, unable to contain the rage that has built throughout his exile. The image of a heart too great for its container is perfect: he cannot fit himself into any world, any alliance, any role. His fury here is not ignoble—it is the last true expression of a man who has been pushed beyond endurance.
My rage is gone; And I am struck with sorrow.
My anger is gone, And now I am filled with sorrow.
Tullus Aufidius · Act 5, Scene 6
Aufidius speaks these lines after the conspirators kill Coriolanus, and the shift from rage to sorrow is immediate and genuine. In killing his great enemy, he has killed something that gave his life meaning. The line marks the play's final tragic irony: the man who orchestrated the death now grieves it, understanding too late what he has destroyed.
The man is noble and his fame folds-in This orb o' the earth.
This man is noble, and his reputation stretches Across the entire world.
Second Lord · Act 5, Scene 6
As the conspirators stand over Coriolanus's body, a voice of sanity and justice speaks, acknowledging his greatness even in death. The line reminds us that the play does not dismiss Coriolanus as a mere tyrant or fool—he is noble, and his reputation extends beyond Rome into all the world. It is the play's final recognition of his true stature.
