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He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
Sep 15, 2025
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads And recks not his own read.
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
Shakespeare said: "There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow." Everything happens perfectly.
Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all.
There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
I do not set my life at a pin's fee, And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself?
A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm
Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping?
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ.
There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
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.
Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death the memory be green.
The time is out of joint : O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!
What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven?
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.
To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.
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.
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.
To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin That makes calamity of so long life.
Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.
There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
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.
What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
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.
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 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.
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