Cyrano de Bergerac

Christian: I'm tired of being my own rival.

Cyrano: My nose precedes me by fifteen minutes.

Ragueneau: No Cyrano. I lose my bet.
Le Bret: So much the better.
Audience: Montfleury! Montfleury.
Montfleury: Happy he... who far from court and city... Ah, how good... breathes the essence of the vernal wood, And who, when the breeze sings melodies.
Cyrano: Rogue! Didn't I order you off for a month?
Montfleury: What? Who's that?
Le Bret: Cyrano.
Ragueneau: I win.
Cyrano: King of fools. Off the stage.
Montfleury: Monsieur.

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