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.
Good sooth, I care not for you.
Honestly, I don't care for you.
Pericles · Act 1, Scene 1
Pericles, having solved the riddle of Antioch and glimpsed its incestuous horror, turns away from the king's daughter with these words. The line endures because it is a refusal — Pericles chooses truth over flattery, and moral revulsion over desire. In a play full of people caught by circumstance, this moment shows a man still free to choose his own heart.
How courtesy would seem to cover sin, When what is done is like an hypocrite, The which is good in nothing but in sight!
How politeness seems to hide wrongdoing, When what is done is like a liar, Which is only good for appearances!
Pericles · Act 1, Scene 1
Pericles has just solved Antioch's riddle and glimpsed the king's unspeakable crime — incest — hidden beneath royal ceremony and jeweled beauty. The line endures because it names the play's terror: that wickedness can wear the mask of nobility, and that knowing the truth makes a man a hunted thing. It is Pericles' first insight into a world where virtue itself becomes dangerous.
Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them, And danger, which I fear'd, is at Antioch, Whose aim seems far too short to hit me here: Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits, Nor yet the other's distance comfort me.
Here pleasures surround my eyes, and my eyes avoid them, And danger, which I feared, is in Antioch, Where its target seems too far to reach me here: Yet neither pleasure's charm can lift my spirits, Nor can the distance of danger comfort me.
Pericles · Act 1, Scene 2
Pericles has fled Antioch but finds no rest in Tyre, unable to enjoy safety because his mind is haunted by the king's threat. The passage matters because it establishes the play's emotional core — the way fear can poison every refuge, and how knowledge of danger can be more paralyzing than danger itself. Pericles is a man trapped between two shores, at home nowhere.
Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast!
May joy and all comfort be in your heart!
First Lord of Tyre · Act 1, Scene 2
A lord greets Pericles with a blessing as he arrives in Tyre, hoping he finds comfort in his homeland. The line is ordinary courtly speech, but it marks the moment before Pericles learns the truths that will upend his world. It shows how quickly fortune can turn from courtesy to catastrophe.
Peace, peace, and give experience tongue. They do abuse the king that flatter him: For flattery is the bellows blows up sin; The thing which is flatter’d, but a spark, To which that blast gives heat and stronger glowing; Whereas reproof, obedient and in order, Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err. When Signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace, He flatters you, makes war upon your life. Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please; I cannot be much lower than my knees.
Peace, peace, and let experience speak. They deceive the king who flatter him: For flattery is like the bellows that stokes sin; The thing being flattered is just a spark, Which the blast makes hotter and burns stronger; But reproof, given with respect and in order, Is what kings need, as they are men, and can make mistakes. When Signior Sooth here declares peace, He flatters you, but makes war on your life. Prince, forgive me, or strike me, if you wish; I can’t go much lower than on my knees.
Helicanus · Act 1, Scene 2
Helicanus kneels before Pericles and defends honest counsel over flattery, willing to be struck for speaking truth. The passage matters because it shows that the truest loyalty is not obedience but the willingness to wound with words if it saves the king from himself. It defines honor as service to the person, not the crown.
We’ll mingle our bloods together in the earth, From whence we had our being and our birth.
We’ll mix our bloods together in the earth, From which we came into life.
Helicanus · Act 1, Scene 2
Helicanus swears he will die alongside Pericles if his rule is threatened, binding himself to the earth itself. The line is brief but absolute: it says that loyalty is not conditional and that devotion can outlast doubt. It shows what it means to be a subject willing to become the king's equal in death.
Ay, sir; and he deserves so to be called for his peaceable reign and good government.
Yes, sir; and he deserves to be called that for his peaceful rule and good leadership.
First Fisherman · Act 2, Scene 1
The fisherman vouches for King Simonides' character, praising his peaceful rule and fair leadership. The line lands because it establishes Simonides as the moral opposite of Antiochus—a ruler whose worth is earned, not demanded. It shows that true power rests on the consent and respect of the governed.
But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in the belfry.
But, master, if I’d been the sexton, I would’ve been up in the bell tower that day.
Third Fisherman · Act 2, Scene 1
A fisherman jokes that if he'd been the sexton, he'd have hidden in the bell tower to avoid being swallowed by the whale. The line is absurd comedy, but it reveals the fishermen's genuine horror at the image of total consumption. It shows that humor is their only defense against a world that recognizes no limits.
Canst thou catch any fishes, then?
Can you catch any fish, then?
Second Fisherman · Act 2, Scene 1
A fisherman asks if the drowning prince has any useful skills, moving quickly from sympathy to practicality. The line matters because it grounds the play in survival—Pericles has nothing, knows nothing of the sea, and must learn or perish. It is the play's first test of whether virtue alone can sustain life.
Nay, master, said not I as much when I saw the porpus how he bounced and tumbled? they say they’re half fish, half flesh: a plague on them, they ne’er come but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea.
No, master, didn’t I say the same when I saw the porpoise bouncing around? They say they’re half fish, half flesh: a curse on them, they always show up just when I expect to be drenched. Master, I wonder how fish manage to live in the sea.
Third Fisherman · Act 2, Scene 1
A fisherman marvels at how fish survive in the sea, having just compared their own world to the sea's cruelty. The line's whimsy masks a real wonder: how does anything fragile survive in a world of predators. It is philosophy dressed as tavern talk, asking what keeps the world from eating itself.
What a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our way!
What a drunk fool was the sea to throw you in our path!
Second Fisherman · Act 2, Scene 1
A fisherman jokes that the sea was drunk to throw Pericles in their path, personifying the ocean as a chaotic force. The line is comic, but it names the central mystery: whether the sea brings Pericles by accident or design. It keeps open the question of whether anyone controls their own fate.
Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones: I can compare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a’ plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all at a mouthful: such whales have I heard on o’ the land, who never leave gaping till they’ve swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells, and all.
Well, like men do on land; the big ones eat up the little ones. I can compare our rich, greedy men to nothing better than a whale; it plays and tumbles, driving the poor little fish before it, and in the end swallows them all in one go: I’ve heard of such whales on land, who never stop eating until they’ve swallowed the whole town—church, steeple, bells, and all.
First Fisherman · Act 2, Scene 1
A fisherman describes the natural hierarchy of the sea—large creatures devouring small ones—and compares it to wealthy men who devour the poor. The line stays with us because it is a glimpse of the play's darker truth: that appetite and greed operate according to their own laws. It reveals the moral cost of allowing power to go unchecked.
Why, I’ll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and our king the good Simonides.
Well, I’ll tell you: this place is called Pentapolis, and our king is the good Simonides.
First Fisherman · Act 2, Scene 1
A fisherman answers Pericles' question about where he has washed ashore, naming Pentapolis and its king. The line matters because it is the first indication that Pericles has arrived at a place of goodness and order—a counterpoint to the corruption of Antioch. It sets the stage for a kingdom that will teach him about nobility and restore his hope.
Opinion’s but a fool, that makes us scan The outward habit by the inward man. But stay, the knights are coming: we will withdraw Into the gallery.
Judging by appearances is foolish, for it makes us assess A person’s inner worth based on their outer appearance. But wait, the knights are coming: let’s move aside Into the gallery.
Simonides · Act 2, Scene 2
Simonides warns his court not to judge the strange knight by his rusty armor, insisting that inward worth matters more than outward show. The line is central to the play's logic: that time and circumstance can strip away everything external, but character remains. It justifies Simonides' later acceptance of Pericles as Thaisa's suitor.
Yon king's to me like to my father's picture, Which tells me in that glory once he was; Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne, And he the sun, for them to reverence; None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights, Did vail their crowns to his supremacy: Where now his son's like a glow-worm in the night, The which hath fire in darkness, none in light: Whereby I see that Time's the king of men, He's both their parent, and he is their grave, And gives them what he will, not what they crave.
That king reminds me of my father's portrait, Which shows me that once he was glorious; Princes would sit around him, like stars around the sun, And he was the sun, to be respected by them; Anyone who saw him, like smaller lights, Would lower their crowns in awe of his power: But now his son is like a glow-worm in the dark, Which has light in the darkness, but none in the light: And so I see that Time is the king of men, Time is both their parent and their grave, And gives them what he wants, not what they desire.
Pericles · Act 2, Scene 3
Pericles, watching King Simonides and seeing an echo of his dead father, meditates on time's power over all human glory. The line matters because it is the play's philosophy made manifest — time is not a friend to human ambition but its master and executioner. Pericles' insight that we are creatures of time, not its owners, becomes the foundation for his later acceptance of loss.
You are right courteous knights.
You are very polite, knights.
Pericles · Act 2, Scene 3
Pericles praises the knights for their lack of envy and their respect for rank despite his humble appearance. The line is a moment of ease in the play, where courtesy works as it should—where goodness recognizes itself in others. It shows what the world looks like when honor is more than performance.
For honour’s cause, forbear your suffrages: If that you love Prince Pericles, forbear. Take I your wish, I leap into the seas, Where’s hourly trouble for a minute’s ease. A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you to Forbear the absence of your king: If in which time expired, he not return, I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. But if I cannot win you to this love, Go search like nobles, like noble subjects, And in your search spend your adventurous worth; Whom if you find, and win unto return, You shall like diamonds sit about his crown.
For honor’s sake, hold back your votes: If you love Prince Pericles, hold back. Take my wish, and I’ll leap into the sea, Where there’s constant trouble for a moment’s peace. A year longer, let me ask you to Hold back from the absence of your king: If in that time he doesn’t return, I’ll bear your burden with patience. But if I can’t win you to this cause, Go search like nobles, like loyal subjects, And spend your worth on the journey; If you find him, and bring him back, You’ll sit like diamonds on his crown.
Helicanus · Act 2, Scene 4
Helicanus persuades the lords to give Pericles twelve more months before choosing a new king, offering himself as regent in the meantime. The speech matters because it asks men to believe in absence rather than presence, and to trust in return rather than accept loss. It is loyalty not tested by proximity but proven by faith.
I ever / Have studied physic: through which secret art, / By turning o'er authorities, I have / Together with my practice, made familiar / To me and to my aid, the blest infusions / That dwells in vegetives, in metals, stones
I've always / Studied medicine, through which secret skill, / By reading texts, I have, / Along with my practice, become familiar / With the blessed remedies / That come from plants, metals, and stones
Cerimon · Act 3, Scene 2
Cerimon explains his life's study of medicine and natural philosophy as he prepares to revive the seemingly dead Thaisa. The line endures because it presents knowledge not as abstract learning but as service to life — Cerimon's art is defined by its union of study and practice, theory and mercy. He becomes the play's emblem of wisdom put to redemptive use.
Music, awake her
The sad and rough music we have, Please make it play.
Cerimon · Act 3, Scene 2
Cerimon commands that music be played to draw Thaisa back from death. The line lodges in memory because of its simplicity and its power — music becomes not decoration but a form of medicine, a vibration that can call the dead back to life. It is the play's central image of restoration: that beauty and art can undo what time and the sea have done.
The heavens, Through you, increase our wonder and set up Your fame forever.
The heavens, Through you, increase our wonder and set up Your fame forever.
First Gentleman · Act 3, Scene 2
A gentleman praises Cerimon for his miraculous revival of Thaisa, crediting him as an instrument of divine power. The line matters because it acknowledges that human knowledge, when joined with compassion, can seem to rival the gods themselves. It testifies to the possibility of redemption through skill and kindness.
O your sweet queen! That the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither, To have bless'd mine eyes with her!
Oh, your sweet queen! How I wish the fates had brought her here, So I could bless my eyes with her!
Dionyza · Act 3, Scene 3
Dionyza speaks these honeyed words to Pericles just before he leaves Marina in her care — words that mask her gathering envy and murderous intent. The line matters because it shows how love-language can be corrupted into a weapon, and how the play uses courtesy itself as a cover for the treachery that will follow. What sounds like warmth is actually the voice of danger.
We cannot but obey The powers above us. Could I rage and roar As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end Must be as 'tis.
We cannot do anything but obey The powers above us. Even if I could scream and shout As violently as the sea she lies in, still the end Must be as it is.
Pericles · Act 3, Scene 3
Pericles is leaving his newborn daughter Marina in Tarsus, believing he must yield to forces beyond his will. The line resonates because it captures the play's central philosophy: that human beings are not authors of their own stories but actors in a narrative written by time and the gods. Acceptance, not resistance, becomes the path to surviving loss.
I am sworn, And will dispatch.
I am sworn, And will do it.
Leonine · Act 4, Scene 1
Leonine, accepting the task to murder Marina, speaks with grim finality—two words that contain a whole tragedy. The line cuts because it is the moment oath becomes act, and a man surrenders his will to another's malice. It shows how quickly evil finds its instrument when ambition and envy align.
I will do’t; but yet she is a goodly creature.
I’ll do it; but she’s a beautiful woman.
Leonine · Act 4, Scene 1
Leonine agrees to kill Marina, yet in the same breath admits she is beautiful—a crack in his resolve that makes his oath worse, not better. The line matters because it shows that moral weakness does not live in ignorance but in knowledge. He sees her goodness and chooses to destroy it anyway.
If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep, Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. Diana, aid my purpose!
If fires are hot, knives are sharp, or waters are deep, I will still remain untarnished, keeping my virginity. Diana, help me fulfill my vow!
Marina · Act 4, Scene 2
Marina, sold into a brothel, invokes the goddess Diana and swears that no circumstance will force her into prostitution. The line endures because it shows virtue not as passivity but as an active refusal — Marina's power lies not in her body but in her will to speak and teach. She transforms a place of commodification into one of moral resistance.
Therefore let’s have fresh ones, whate’er we pay for them. If there be not a conscience to be used in every trade, we shall never prosper.
So let’s get some new ones, no matter what we have to pay for them. If there’s no conscience in business, we’ll never succeed.
Pandar · Act 4, Scene 2
The Pandar argues for finding new women to sell in the brothel, claiming that business requires conscience to prosper. The line is darkly comic because it uses the language of virtue to justify commerce in human flesh. It exposes how easily morality becomes a tool of greed.
Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over.
Three or four thousand chequins would be a good amount to live quietly on, and then retire.
Pandar · Act 4, Scene 2
The Pandar dreams of retiring with enough money to live quietly, a fantasy of escape that reveals his own exhaustion. The line lands because it shows that even the profiteer is enslaved by his own business—he wants out but cannot stop. It is a moment of unexpected pathos from the least sympathetic character.
Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'erflow'd, Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd
That's why the earth, fearing it might overflow, Gave Thetis' child to the heavens
Gower · Act 4, Scene 4
Gower reads the false epitaph that Dionyza has carved for Marina, a monument built on lies and envy. The line matters because it uses mythological language to describe how evil can twist even the greatest things — Marina is rewritten as a victim of nature rather than human cruelty. It shows how the play understands deception: not as simple falsehood, but as the corruption of truth itself.
Thus time we waste, and longest leagues make short; Sail seas in cockles, have an wish but for’t; Making, to take your imagination, From bourn to bourn, region to region. By you being pardon’d, we commit no crime To use one language in each several clime Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you To learn of me, who stand i’ the gaps to teach you, The stages of our story. Pericles Is now again thwarting the wayward seas, Attended on by many a lord and knight. To see his daughter, all his life’s delight. Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late Advanced in time to great and high estate, Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind, Old Helicanus goes along behind. Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have brought This king to Tarsus,--think his pilot thought; So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on,-- To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone. Like motes and shadows see them move awhile; Your ears unto your eyes I’ll reconcile. DUMB SHOW.
Thus we waste time, and make long journeys seem short; Sail across seas in tiny boats, wishing only for it; Taking you, to stir your imagination, From place to place, region to region. By your forgiveness, we commit no crime Using one language in different places Where our scenes seem to happen. I ask you To learn from me, standing in the gaps to teach you, The steps of our story. Pericles Is now again fighting the rough seas, Attended by many lords and knights. He’s going to see his daughter, his life’s joy. Old Escanes, whom Helicanus recently Raised to a high position, Is left to rule. Remember this, Old Helicanus follows behind. Well-sailing ships and favorable winds have brought This king to Tarsus, think his captain thought; So with his steering, your thoughts will follow,-- To bring his daughter home, who was first lost. Like dust and shadows, see them move for a while; I’ll bring your ears to match your eyes. DUMB SHOW.
Gower · Act 4, Scene 4
Gower, between acts, leaps the audience forward through months and miles, collapsing time itself to follow Pericles' journey. The lines are important because they acknowledge that the stage cannot show everything, and invite imagination to do the work that scenery cannot. Gower positions himself as the bridge between what we see and what we must imagine.
For me, That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune Have placed me in this sty, where, since I came, Diseases have been sold dearer than physic, O, that the gods Would set me free from this unhallow'd place, Though they did change me to the meanest bird That flies i' the purer air!
As for me, A virgin, though most unfair fate Has placed me in this filthy place, where, since I came, diseases have been more expensive than medicine, Oh, if only the gods would free me from this unholy place, even if they had to turn me into the lowliest bird that flies in the clean air!
Marina · Act 4, Scene 6
Marina speaks directly to the governor Lysimachus, naming her fate without shame or false modesty. The passage endures because it shows a young woman claiming her own story — she describes her fall not as sin but as misfortune, and her virtue not as fragility but as something solid enough to survive corruption. The image of the bird escaping to purer air becomes the play's deepest metaphor.
What trade, sir?
What kind of work, sir?
Marina · Act 4, Scene 6
Marina asks this simple question when Lysimachus cannot name the profession of the brothel, caught between decency and desire. The line matters because of what it does not say — Marina refuses to be named or shamed, turning the governor's discomfort back onto him. In three words, she claims the power to define herself rather than accept the labels others impose.
Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget; / Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tharsus, / And found at sea again!
You who gave birth to the one who gave birth to you; / You who were born at sea, buried in Tarsus, / And found at sea again!
Pericles · Act 5, Scene 1
Pericles recognizes his daughter Marina after fourteen years of separation and unbearable grief. The line matters because it collapses time itself — the paradox of parent and child creating each other across years of loss and estrangement. It shows how the play's deepest concern is not about action or conquest but about the mysterious bonds that survive even death and the sea.
Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry, The more she gives them speech.
Who fills the ears she feeds, and makes them crave more, The more she speaks.
Pericles · Act 5, Scene 1
Pericles describes his dead wife Thaisa and recognizes her qualities mirrored in Marina, whom he does not yet know is his daughter. The line endures because it captures the paradox of eloquence and desire — words and beauty do not satisfy but intensify longing. It is also the moment before recognition, when love and loss are about to collapse into the same instant.
