HAMLET.
Act i. Sc. 1.
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
Act i. Sc. 1.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.
Act i. Sc. 1.
And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons.
Act i. Sc. 1.
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long.
And then they say no spirit dares stir abroad,
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallowed and so gracious is the time.
Act i. Sc. 2.
The head is not more native to the heart.
Act i. Sc. 2.
A little more than kin, and less than kind.
Act i, Sc. 2.
Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems
Act i. Sc. 2.
But I have that within which passeth show;
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe.
Act i. Sc. 2.
O that this too, too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
That it should come to this! Hyperion to a satyr! so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly.
Why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on.
Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month.
Like Niobe, all tears.
My father's brother; but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.
Act i. Sc. 2.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Act i. Sc. 2.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Act i. Sc. 2.
He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.
Act i. Sc. 2.
A countenance more
In sorrow than in anger.
Act i. Sc. 3.
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth.
Act i. Sc. 3.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be.
Act i. Sc. 3.
Springes to catch woodcocks.
Act i. Sc. 4.
But to my mind—though I am native here,
And to the manner born—it is a custom
More honored in the breach than the observance.
Act i. Sc. 4.
Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!
Act i. Sc. 4.
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,
That I will speak to thee.
Act i. Sc. 4.
Let me not burst in ignorance!
Act i. Sc. 4.
I do not set my life at a pin's fee.
Act i. Sc. 4.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
Act i. Sc. 5.
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood;
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres;
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful Porcupine.
Act i. Sc. 5.
O my prophetic soul! my uncle!
Act i. Sc. 5.
O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
Act i. Sc. 5.
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.
Act i. Sc. 5.
The glowworm shows the matin to be near
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire.
Act i. Sc. 5.
There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave,
To tell us this.
Act i. Sc. 5.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Act i. Sc. 5.
The time is out of joint.
Act ii. Sc. 1.
This is the very ecstasy of love.
Act ii. Sc. 2.
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Act ii. Sc. 2.
That he is mad, 'tis true; 'tis true, 'tis pity;
And pity 'tis, 'tis true.
Act ii. Sc. 2.
Doubt thou the stars are tire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
Act ii. Sc. 2,
Still harping on my daughter.
Act ii. Sc. 2.
Though this be madness, yet there's method in it.
Act ii. Sc. 2.
What a piece of work is 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!
Act ii. Sc. 2.
Man delights not me—nor woman neither.
Act ii. Sc. 2.
I know a hawk from a hand-saw.
Act ii. Sc. 2.
Come, give us a taste of your quality.
Act ii. Sc. 2.
'Twas caviare to the general.
Act ii. Sc. 2.
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba?
Act ii. Sc. 2.
The play's the thing,
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.
Act iii. Sc. 1.
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 heartache, 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—ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.
The spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes;
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin. Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death—
The undiscovered country, from whose bourne
No traveler returns—puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.
Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
Act iii. Sc. 1.
Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thon shalt not escape calumny.
Act iii. Sc. 1.
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form,
The observed of all observers!
Act iii. Sc. X.
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
It out-herods Herod.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
To hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp;
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of hearts,
As I do thee.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
Something too much of this.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
Let the galled jade wince, our withers are un-wrung.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
Why, let the strucken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled play;
For some must watch, while some must sleep;
Thus runs the world away.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
It will discourse most eloquent music.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
Very like a whale.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
They fool me to the top of my bent.
Act iii. Sc. 2.
'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world.
Act iii. Sc. 3.
O my offence is rank, it smells to heaven
Act iii. Sc. 4.
Look here, upon this picture, and on this;
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See what a grace was seated on this brow!
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command.
A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man.
Act iii. Sc. 4.
A king Of shreds and patches.
Act iii. Sc. 4.
This is the very coinage of your brain.
Act iii. Sc. 4.
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul.
Act iii. Sc. 4.
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
Act iii. Sc. 4.
For 'tis the sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petard.
Act iv. Sc. 5.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions!
Act iv. Sc. 5.
There's such divinity doth hedge a king,
That treason can but peep to what it would.
Act v. Sc. 1.
How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us.
Act v. Sc. 1.
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest; of most excellent fancy.
Act v. Sc. 1.
Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Act v. Sc. 1.
To what base uses we may return, Horatio!
Act v. Sc. 1.
Imperial Caesar, dead, and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.
Act v. Sc. 1.
Sir, though I am not splenetive and rash,
Yet have I in me something dangerous.
Act v. Sc. 1.
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.
Act v. Sc. 2.
There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.
Act v. Sc. 2.
There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
Act v. Sc. 2.
A hit, a very palpable hit.