Hamlet Quotes

A little more than kin, and less than kind
Oh that this too too solid flesh would melt Thaw and resolve itself into a dew
The play’s the thing Wherein I’ll catch the Conscience of the king
There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow
But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harroe up thy soul, freeze thy young blood
Goodnight, sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest
What apiece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties
Beware of entrance into a quarrel, but being in, Bear ‘t that th’ opposed may beware of thee
There is a willow grows aslant the brook That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream
Truly to speak, and with no addition,/ We go to gain a little patch of ground That hath in it no profit but the name
Now get you to my lady’s chamber and tell her, Let her paint an inch thick, to this favor she must come
Meet it is I set it down That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain
No place indeed should murder sanctuarize Revenge should have no bounds
Oh my offense is rank, it smells to heaven; It hath the primal eldest curse upon ‘t, A brother’s murder
And let those that play your clowns Speak no more than is set down for them.
To die, to sleep;/ To sleep, perchance To dream
But look, the morn in russet mantle clad, Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill
The fuberal baked meats/ Did coldly furnish forth The marriage tables
Give me that man/ That is not passion’s slave, And I will wear him
What’s Hecuba to him, or He to Hecuba That he should weep for her?
See what a grace was seated on this brow? Hyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself
Though I am native here,/ And to the manner born, It is a custom Mlre honored on the breach than the observance
O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell And count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
There’s such divinity doth hedge a king That treason can but peep to what it would
That he is mad, ’tis true; Tis true, ’tis pity, And pity ’tis ’tis true – a foolish figure
‘Tis now the very witching time of night,/ When Churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Murder most foul, as in the best it is. But this most foul, strange and unnatural
Forty thousand brother/ Could not With all their quantity of love Make up my sum
Rightly to be great/ Is not To stir without great argument
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy

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