There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats; For I am armed so strong in honesty That they pass by me as the idle wind

Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous

Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then this parting was well made

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs and peep about
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates.
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

There's no trust, no faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, all forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.

Though I am not naturally honest, I am sometimes so by chance.