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So loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven, Visit her face' too roughly.
Sep 10, 2025
POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.
For to define true madness, What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?
More matter with less art.
I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm
A man can smile and smile and be a villain.
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.
Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping?
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death the memory be green.
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise.
The time is out of joint : O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!
I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
It is not, nor it cannot, come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
From this time forth My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
Neither a borrower nor a lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks
The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep, perchance to dream—For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause, there's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought
'Tis better to bear the ills we have than fly to others that we know not of.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin That makes calamity of so long life.
There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
The Devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape.
Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour's at the stake.
This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory.
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come.
He that plays the king shall be welcome- his Majesty shall have tribute of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickle o' th' sere; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt fort.
This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.
To die: - to sleep: No more; and, by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished.
To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep No more; and by a sleep, to say we end The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep, To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub.
To take arms against a sea of troubles.
This above all; to thine own self be true.
To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
All's well that ends well.