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.
Nothing, my lord.
Nothing, my lord.
Cordelia · Act 1, Scene 1
Cordelia refuses to match her sisters' flattery when asked how much she loves her father, offering instead this single word. It endures because it is the most honest and costly act of love in the play—she will lose a kingdom for her silence. That one word contains the play's central tragedy: that truth and love are not always rewarded, and that sometimes integrity costs everything.
Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower: For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist, and cease to be; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this, for ever.
Then let it be so; your truth will be your dowry: By the holy light of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; By all the forces of the stars From which we live and die; I now give up all my care for you, And the bond of blood between us. From now on, I will treat you as a stranger, Forever.
King Lear · Act 1, Scene 1
Lear, enraged by Cordelia's refusal to flatter him, invokes the entire cosmos to curse his youngest daughter and disown her. The curse matters because it shows a king mistaking his power over words for power over love—he thinks he can declare Cordelia a stranger to him and make it true. But the play will prove him wrong: she is the only one who remains truly bound to him.
Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly, When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man? Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound, When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom; And, in thy best consideration, cheque This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound Reverbs no hollowness.
Let it fall, even if it breaks my heart: Let me be rude, when Lear is mad. What will you do, old man? Do you think duty should fear to speak, When power bows down to flattery? Honesty should be honored, When majesty stoops to foolishness. Reverse your decision; And, for your own good, stop this reckless action: Answer me with your judgment, my king, Your youngest daughter doesn’t love you any less; And those who speak with sincerity are not empty-hearted.
Kent · Act 1, Scene 1
Kent is about to defy the king directly, knowing it will cost him his life or exile, because he sees Lear about to make a catastrophic mistake. The line matters because it is the moment a subject chooses principle over survival, and speaks plainly when power demands flattery. It shows us that Kent understands what the play will take five acts to prove: that a king who cannot hear truth is a king already lost.
Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.
Nothing will come of nothing: say something again.
King Lear · Act 1, Scene 1
Lear demands Cordelia perform love like her sisters have, but she refuses to flatter him. His response—that nothing produces nothing—is the play's first law of catastrophe. The line matters because it reveals Lear's tragic blindness: he cannot see that silence and truth are not the same as emptiness. It sets the entire tragedy in motion.
See better, Lear; and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye.
See more clearly, Lear; and let me stay The honest blind spot in your eye.
Kent · Act 1, Scene 1
Kent, as Lear prepares to banish him for speaking truth, offers himself as an honest mirror—the thing Lear most needs but most rejects. The line is poignant because Kent is asking to remain in Lear's sight not as a flatterer but as a moral witness. It tells us that loyalty, in Kent's understanding, means refusing to let a king be deceived, even at the cost of rejection.
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think’st, and hast most rightly said!
May the gods take you, dear girl, You who think justly and have spoken wisely!
Kent · Act 1, Scene 1
Kent blesses Cordelia as he exits, having just seen her banished for refusing to flatter her father. The line matters because it is the only moment of genuine blessing in the first scene—a prayer for the one daughter who told the truth. It shows us that Kent recognizes Cordelia as the play's moral center, and that love, in this world, is something the gods must actively protect.
Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true, As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take More composition and fierce quality Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, Got ’tween asleep and wake? Well, then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate: fine word,--legitimate! Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper: Now, gods, stand up for bastards!
Nature, you are my goddess; I am bound by your law. Why should I follow the plague of tradition, and let society’s rules deny me, just because I am a year or so younger than my brother? Why bastard? Why inferior? When my body is as strong, my mind as noble, and my form as true, as any noblewoman’s child? Why do they label us as inferior? as illegitimate? bastardly? inferior, inferior? Who, in nature’s wild and secret ways, create more strength and fiery passion than those in a tired, stale bed, who bring a whole line of fools into the world, conceived between sleep and waking? Well, then, Legitimate Edgar, I must take your land: Our father loves the bastard Edmund just as much as the legitimate: fine word,—legitimate! Well, my legitimate brother, if this letter succeeds, and my plan works, Edmund the base will rise above the legitimate. I will grow; I will thrive: Now, gods, support the bastards!
Edmund · Act 1, Scene 2
Edmund, alone, declares his rejection of law and family bonds, claiming appetite and self-interest as his only gods. The line is the play's most direct statement of nihilism—Edmund names himself and refuses the order that would keep him beneath his legitimate brother. It reveals the play's antagonist as someone who will destroy the family itself to rise, and who views morality as nothing but custom meant to trap him.
Dost thou know me, fellow?
Do you know me, fellow?
King Lear · Act 1, Scene 4
Lear asks this simple question of Kent, newly disguised as Caius and just hired into his service. The line is pivotal because it contains the question Lear will ask, in different forms, for the rest of the play: 'Who am I when I no longer have power to be recognized.' It shows us that Lear's identity is already fracturing, and that he is about to learn that a man can be truly known only when he has nothing left to hide behind.
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child!
How much sharper and more painful than a snake's bite It is to have an ungrateful child!
King Lear · Act 1, Scene 4
Lear has just learned that Goneril is cutting his knights and treating him with contempt in his own daughter's house. The line lands because it transforms a private wound into language so perfect it outlasts the play itself. It shows Lear discovering that his flesh has betrayed him—and that he must now live with that knowledge.
How now! what art thou?
What's this! Who are you?
King Lear · Act 1, Scene 4
Lear, having just given away his kingdom, encounters Kent in disguise and begins to lose hold of who he is and what he commands. The question is simple but it carries the play's weight: once a king surrenders his power, who is he? The line matters because it opens the abyss—Lear will spend the rest of the play trying to answer this question.
O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, And thy dear judgment out!
Oh Lear, Lear, Lear! Beat on this door that let your foolishness in, And drove out your good sense!
King Lear · Act 1, Scene 4
Lear, alone, finally speaks to himself about what he has done by dividing his kingdom and banishing his true daughter. The line matters because it is self-knowledge arriving too late—he understands his error only after it has destroyed everything. It shows Lear's capacity for clarity but also the play's tragic lesson: that knowing you are a fool does not make you less of one.
Then ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer; you gave me nothing for’t. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?
Then it’s like the breath of an unpaid lawyer; you gave me nothing for it. Can you make any use of nothing, uncle?
The Fool · Act 1, Scene 4
The Fool has just asked Lear what use nothing is, and Lear denies the question's premise by claiming 'nothing can be made out of nothing.' The Fool's response lands because it is ruthlessly true—Lear has given away everything and received only words in return. It shows us that the Fool sees what Lear cannot yet: that the king has already become nothing, and words are all he has left to comfort himself.
Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O without a figure: I am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing.
You were a fine fellow when you didn’t need to worry about her frowning; now you’re a zero without a number: I’m better off than you are now; I’m a fool, you’re nothing.
The Fool · Act 1, Scene 4
The Fool confronts Lear directly with the consequences of his abdication—he was something when he held power, and now he is nothing. The line matters because it names the play's central horror: a man who has given away everything has erased himself, and no amount of ceremony or love can restore what authority alone was sustaining. It shows us that identity itself, in this world, is not stable but depends on the position one holds.
O, reason not the need: our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous: Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man's life's as cheap as beast's: thou art a lady; If only to go warm were gorgeous, Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, Which scarcely keeps thee warm.
Oh, don't question why we need things: even the poorest beggars Have things they don't really need: If you only give people what they absolutely need, Life is as cheap as that of an animal. You are a lady; If just being warm was enough, Why wear fancy clothes you don't really need, Which barely keep you warm?
King Lear · Act 2, Scene 4
Lear, having been reduced to almost nothing by his daughters' cruelty, turns suddenly from his own rage to a vision of universal human need and inequality. The passage matters because it is Lear beginning to see beyond his own suffering into the suffering of the poor—a glimpse of wisdom born only from his own dispossession. It reveals the play's deepest concern: what separates humans from animals, and whether kings are even that.
Thou art the thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor bare, forked animal as thou art.
You are the real thing: an unprotected man is just a poor, naked, two-legged creature like you are.
King Lear · Act 3, Scene 4
Lear, already mad, confronts Poor Tom on the heath and sees in him what he now understands about himself and all men. The line endures because it strips away every pretense of rank, clothing, and civilization to expose the naked animal beneath. It is the play's most radical moment—Lear no longer looking outward at his daughters but inward at what a human being actually is.
I have received a hurt: follow me, lady. Turn out that eyeless villain; throw this slave Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace: Untimely comes this hurt: give me your arm.
I’ve been hurt: follow me, lady. Throw out that blind villain; dump this slave On the garbage heap. Regan, I’m bleeding fast: This injury comes too late: give me your arm.
Duke of Cornwall · Act 3, Scene 7
Cornwall has just blinded Gloucester and is mortally wounded by his own servant in the act. The line matters because it captures the moment of poetic justice—the tyrant who has just committed atrocity is himself dying, even as he exults in his power. It suggests that the gods move quickly to answer cruelty, and that no evil act completes itself without consequence.
Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly! Where is thy lustre now?
So that it doesn’t see more, stop it. Get out, disgusting thing! Where is your shine now?
Duke of Cornwall · Act 3, Scene 7
Cornwall has just put out Gloucester's first eye and is about to destroy the second. The line is unforgettable because it dehumanizes the eye itself—it becomes an object to be erased, not a part of a suffering man. It shows us that cruelty at its extreme reaches a kind of abstraction, where the victim ceases to be human and becomes only an obstacle to power.
See’t shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair. Upon these eyes of thine I’ll set my foot.
You’ll never see that. Hold him down, fellows. I’ll crush your eyes underfoot.
Duke of Cornwall · Act 3, Scene 7
Cornwall has just bound Gloucester in a chair and is about to blind him as Regan holds him down. The line lands because it is the moment of pure, deliberate mutilation—Cornwall asserting absolute power over his captive. It tells us that the play has moved from betrayal and cold rejection into something darker: the body itself becomes the site of revenge, and mercy has left the stage.
I stumbled when I saw: full oft 'tis seen, Our means secure us, and our mere defects Prove our commodities.
I stumbled when I could see: it's often the case, That what we think keeps us safe, and our flaws Turn out to be what helps us.
Gloucester · Act 4, Scene 1
Gloucester, now literally blind, has just survived what he believed was a fall from a cliff and realizes Edgar has been guiding him all along. The line matters because it inverts every assumption: blindness brings sight, weakness becomes strength, and loss becomes gain. It is the play's answer to Lear's despair—not recovery, but a new understanding born from wreck.
Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile: Filths savour but themselves. What have you done? Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform’d? A father, and a gracious aged man, Whose reverence even the head-lugg’d bear would lick, Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded. Could my good brother suffer you to do it? A man, a prince, by him so benefited! If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, It will come, Humanity must perforce prey on itself, Like monsters of the deep.
Wisdom and goodness seem vile to the vile: The filthy can only appreciate filth. What have you done? You act like tigers, not daughters. What have you done? A father, a kind old man, So respected that even a brutal bear would show him mercy, You’ve driven him mad, you barbaric, ungrateful creatures! Could my noble brother allow this? A man, a prince, who treated him so well! If the heavens don’t send their angels Soon to curb these horrible acts, It will happen That humans will destroy each other, Like monsters of the sea.
Duke of Albany · Act 4, Scene 2
Albany has just learned that Goneril and Regan have brutally abused their father, and he turns on them with fury and moral clarity. The line matters because it names the play's central paradox: the wicked cannot recognize goodness, and evil consumes itself like beasts. It shows us that Albany understands what Lear has only begun to learn—that human cruelty is a kind of madness that demands divine punishment.
There is means, madam: Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, The which he lacks; that to provoke in him, Are many simples operative, whose power Will close the eye of anguish.
There is a way, madam: Our natural nurse is rest, Which he lacks; to bring it back to him, There are many simple remedies, whose power Will ease his pain.
Doctor · Act 4, Scene 4
The Doctor is with Cordelia, telling her there are ways to heal Lear's shattered mind if she can provide rest and the right medicines. The line matters because it offers the play's first real hope—that healing is possible through gentleness and the body's own capacity to mend. It shows us that nature itself, when tended with care, can undo what cruelty and madness have broken.
O, let me kiss that hand!
Oh, let me kiss that hand!
Gloucester · Act 4, Scene 6
Gloucester, blind and broken, recognizes the voice of Lear when they meet on the heath, and tries to touch him in an act of submission and love. The line lands because it is the gesture of a man who has lost everything—his eyes, his rank, his dignity—and yet still reaches toward another suffering creature with reverence. It shows the play's vision of humanity stripped bare: touch and presence matter more than sight or status.
When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools: this a good block; It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe A troop of horse with felt: I'll put 't in proof; And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in-law, Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
When we're born, we cry that we've come to this great stage of fools: this is a good block; It would be a clever trick, to put felt on a horse's feet: I'll prove it; And when I've sneaked up on these sons-in-law, Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
King Lear · Act 4, Scene 6
Lear, in his madness on the heath, suddenly articulates his vision of human existence as fundamentally tragic and absurd. The passage matters because it captures both the play's nihilism and Lear's own fractured mind—from cosmic despair about birth and death, he lurches into a strange joke about shoeing horses, then into a violent fantasy. It is the play's most honest statement about the human condition: we enter weeping and leave in rage.
No cause, no cause.
No reason, no reason.
Cordelia · Act 4, Scene 7
Cordelia, reunited with her broken father after his madness and humiliation, speaks these words when Lear begs her forgiveness for his cruelty. They matter because they are the play's only moment of pure grace—a refusal to make love conditional or transactional. Cordelia does not say 'you are forgiven'; she says there is nothing to forgive, that love itself requires no reason.
The wheel is come full circle: I am here.
The wheel has turned full circle: I'm here.
Edmund · Act 5, Scene 3
Edmund, mortally wounded by Edgar in combat, finally understands that the cruelty and betrayal he has engineered have turned back on him. The line matters because it accepts a harsh cosmic justice without bitterness—the bastard who plotted against his father and brothers is now undone by the very brother he thought worthless. It is the play's only real moment of retribution, and it comes as a kind of relief.
This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?
This is a dull sight. Are you Kent?
King Lear · Act 5, Scene 3
Lear, at the very end, holding Cordelia's dead body, speaks to Kent and seems to be waking from madness—but only to a world more terrible than the one he lost. The line matters because it is almost his last coherent moment, and he uses it not to grasp at understanding but to acknowledge that everything he sees now is diminished, dull, and without meaning. He has survived, but survival is its own curse.
