The Tempest

• I come to answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, to swim, to dive into the fire, to ride on the curl'd clouds (Ariel, I.ii)
• Hell is empty, And all the devils are here. (I. ii)
• You taught me language; and my profit on't is, I know how to curse: the red plague rid you, for learning me your language! (Caliban, I.ii)
• ''Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands. Curtsied when you have and kissed, The wild waves whist, Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Hark, hark!(Ariel, I.ii)
• Full fathom five thy father lies
  Of his bones are coral made
  Those are pearls that were his eyes
  Nothing of him that doth fade
  But doth suffer a sea-change
  Into something rich and strange. (Ariel, I,ii, referenced in T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land)
• Be not afeard: the isle is full of noises, sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices, that, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, the clouds methought would open and show riches ready to drop upon me; that, when I wak'd I cried to dream again. (Caliban, III.ii)
• Our revels now are ended. These our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits and are melted into air, into thin air: and, like the baseless fabric of this vision, the cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself, yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve and, like this insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep. (Prospero, IV.i)
• But this rough magic I here abjure; and, when I have requir'd some heavenly music, which even now I do, to work mine end upon their senses that this airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and, deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book. (Prospero, V.i)
• ''O brave new world, that has such people in't! (Miranda, V.i, this passage provided Aldous Huxley the title of his novel, Brave New World.
• As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free. (Prospero, V.i)

• The Tempest at Wikisource