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A Doll’s House Monologue – Nora

NORA: You have never loved me. You have only thought it pleasant to be in love with me. It is perfectly true, Torvald. When I was at home with papa, he told me his opinion about everything, and so I had the same opinions; and if I differed from him I concealed the fact, because he would not have liked it. He called me his doll-child, and he played with me just as I used to play with my dolls. And when I came to live with you–I mean that I was simply transferred from papa’s hands into yours. You arranged everything according to your own taste, and so I got the same tastes as your else I pretended to, I am really not quite sure which–I think sometimes the one and sometimes the other. When I look back on it, it seems to me as if I had been living here like a poor woman–just from hand to mouth. I have existed merely to perform tricks for you, Torvald. But you would have it so. You and papa have committed a great sin against me. It is your fault that I have made nothing of my life.

A Doll’s House Monologue – Torvald

Torvald: (Standing at Nora’s doorway.) Try and calm yourself, and make your mind easy again, my frightened little singing-bird. Be at rest, and feel secure; I have broad wings to shelter you under. (Walks up and down by the door.) How warm and cozy our home is, Nora. Here is a shelter for you; here I will protect you like a hunted dove that I have saved from a hawk’s claws; I will bring peace to your poor beating heart. It will come, little by little, Nora, believe me. Tomorrow morning you will look upon it all quite differently; soon everything will be just as it was before.

Very soon you won’t need me to assure you that I have forgiven you; you will yourself feel the certainty that I have done so. Can you suppose I should ever think of such a thing as repudiating you or even reproaching you? You have no idea what a true man’s heart is like, Nora. There is something so indescribably sweet and satisfying, to a man, in the knowledge that he has forgiven his wife—forgiven her freely, and with all his heart. It seems as if that had made her, as it were, doubly his own; he has given her a new life, so to speak, and she is in a way become both wife and child to him.

So you shall be for me after this, my little scared, helpless darling. Have no anxiety about anything, Nora; only be frank and open with me, and I will serve as will and conscience both to you—. What is this? Not gone to bed? Have you changed your things?

Sense and Sensibility Monologues

MARIANNE
I agree with Margaret: the more I know of the world, the more I’m convinced that I will never marry. I have never seen a man whom I can truly love. I require so much! I could not be happy with a man, rich or poor, unless his passions match my own! He must agree with all my feelings! We must love the same books, the same music…and his eye must show that spirit, that fire, which reveals honesty and intelligence. He must have a striking figure and a graceful walk…and a handsome face. Well, I’m not looking for him to be unsightly now, am I?

ELINOR
So it’s true? You left the picnic and went to Willoughby’s aunt’s home? When she wasn’t there? Just you and Willoughby? I would not go tour a home with no companion other than Willoughby! Did you invite anyone to join you on your walk? There are not just rules, Marianne. This is your reputation, your character! And just because the “day was pleasant,” doesn’t mean you didn’t make a poor choice. (quietly) Even if that estate is one day to be yours, you are still not justified in what you did. Marianne, for the past week, Margaret has repeatedly asked me if you and Willoughby are getting married. Do you know why she would suddenly wonder that?

FANNY
Three thousand pounds! Your father was insane. That’s the only explanation! He was delirious or at the very least, lightheaded. Whatever it is that dying people do when they’re…you know. Shoving off. “Doing something for the girls” need not be three thousand pounds! Once that money is parted with, it can never return! What brother would do so much for his sisters, let alone his half-sisters. Half-sisters! That’s not even really a relation at all! And on an allowance, if Mrs. Dashwood lives more than fifteen years, we will be robbed! She is very stout and healthy. Have you ever noticed that people never die when they have an allowed being paid them?

WILLOUGHBY
When I first met your family, I merely thought of all of you as a pleasant way to pass my time in Devonshire. Marianne is pretty, and her attention pleased my vanity, but I admit I had no intention of returning her affection…Yet, after time, even I didn’t realize what I felt. Who could have resisted her? When I finally decided to tell your sister my feelings, despite my lack of a fortune, an unfortunate discovery took place. Someone informed my aunt — someone who had interest in me losing her favor – informed her of a relationship I had with a Miss Williams. I assumed due to your friendship that you have heard the whole story. Just remember who told you the story! Is there any way it was impartial? I acknowledge that I should have respected Miss Williams more, but don’t assumed that because I behaved badly that she was a saint!

EDWARD
(painfully awkward)
Oh! I’m sorry…I didn’t realize anyone was in here…I was just going to browse through the books. (beat) These are excellent. (beat) I enjoy drawing, especially now. My father taught me. He was. Much better than I am. (beat) Elinor, I need to tell you…Have you ever…? Or rather, I should say, can you imagine ever, when you were younger, making a decision — Oh! It’s alright, Marianne, I was just leaving. I have some reading to do…(looking at the book he holds) Um, “Lyrical Ballads and Other Poems” by Wordsworth. Well. Perhaps these will teach me a thing or two…Perhaps.

The Importance of Being Earnest

Jack

It pains me very much to have to speak frankly to you, Lady Bracknell, about your nephew, but the fact is that I do not approve at all of his moral character. I suspect him of being untruthful. I fear there can be no possible doubt about the matter. This afternoon during my temporary absence in London on an important question of romance, he obtained admission to my house by means of the false pretence of being my brother. Under an assumed name he drank, I’ve just been informed by my butler, an entire pint bottle of my Perrier-Jouet, Brut, ’89; wine I was specially reserving for myself. Continuing his disgraceful deception, he succeeded in the course of the afternoon in alienating the affections of my only ward. He subsequently stayed to tea, and devoured every single muffin. And what makes his conduct all the more heartless is, that he was perfectly well aware from the first that I have no brother, that I never had a brother, and that I don’t intend to have a brother, not even of any kind. I distinctly told him so myself yesterday afternoon.

LADY BRACKNELL:
Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or die. This shilly-shallying with the question is absurd. Nor do I in any way approve of the modern sympathy with invalids. I consider it morbid. Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others. Health is the primary duty of life. I am always telling that to your poor uncle, but he never seems to take much notice . . . as far as any improvement in his ailment goes. Well, Algernon, of course if you are obliged to be beside the bedside of Mr. Bunbury, I have nothing more to say. But I would be much obliged if you would ask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to be kind enough not to have a relapse on Saturday, for I rely on you to arrange my music for me. It is my last reception, and one wants something that will encourage conversation, particularly at the end of the season when every one has practically said whatever they had to say, which, in most cases, was probably not much.

AN IDEAL HUSBAND

MABEL CHILTERN:
Well, Tommy has proposed to me again. Tommy really does nothing but propose to me. He proposed to me last night in the music-room, when I was quite unprotected, as there was an elaborate trio going on. I didn’t dare to make the smallest repartee, I need hardly tell you. If I had, it would have stopped the music at once. Musical people are so absurdly unreasonable. They always want one to be perfectly dumb at the very moment when one is longing to be absolutely deaf. Then he proposed to me in broad daylight this morning, in front of that dreadful statue of Achilles. Really, the things that go on in front of that work of art are quite appalling. The police should interfere. At luncheon I saw by the glare in his eye that he was going to propose again, and I just managed to check him in time by assuring him that I was a bimetallist. Fortunately I don’t know what bimetallism means. And I don’t believe anybody else does either. But the observation crushed Tommy for ten minutes. He looked quite shocked. And then Tommy is so annoying in the way he proposes. If he proposed at the top of his voice, I should not mind so much. That might produce some effect on the public. But he does it in a horrid confidential way. When Tommy wants to be romantic he talks to one just like a doctor. I am very fond of Tommy, but his methods of proposing are quite out of date. I wish, Gertrude, you would speak to him, and tell him that once a week is quite often enough to propose to any one, and that it should always be done in a manner that attracts some attention.

Persuasion

 Anne Elliot
I hope I do justice to all that is felt by you, and by those who resemble you. God forbid that I should undervalue the warm and faithful feelings of any of my fellow-creatures! I should deserve utter contempt if I dared to suppose that true attachment and constancy were known only by woman. No, I believe you capable of everything great and good in your married lives. I believe you equal to every important exertion, and to every domestic forbearance, so long as—if I may be allowed the expression—so long as you have an object. I mean while the woman you love lives, and lives for you. All the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one; you need not covet it), is that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone.

Anne Elliot
I almost got married once. Wentworth held my heart. But he was a sailor without rank or fortune. And I was persuaded to give him up. Now I’m single and thriving. I spend my time drinking fine wines, enjoying warm baths and lying face down on my bed. Like I said, thriving. Who needs romance when one has family?