Hamlet Quotes

Oh, that this too, too sullied flesh would melt,Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,Or that the Everlasting had not fixedHis canon ‘gainst self-slaughter! O God, God!How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitableSeem to me all the uses of this world!Fie on ‘t, ah fie! ‘Tis an unweeded gardenThat grows to seed. Hamlet talking about how he wishes he could dissolve into nothing, mourning his father.
That it should come to this, But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two, So excellent a king, that was, 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. Heaven and earth, Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on, and yet within a month– Let me not think on’t; frailty, thy name is woman— A little month, or ere those shoes were old With which she follow’d my poor father’s body Like Niobe, all tears, why she– O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourned longer–married with my uncle, My father’s brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules. Halmet talking about his father.
Our last king, Whose image even but now appear’d to us, Was as you know by Fortinbras of Norway, Thereto pricked on by a most emulate pride, Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet– For so this side of our known world esteemed him– Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a sealed compact, Well ratified by law and heraldry, Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands Which he stood seized of to the conqueror; Against the which a moiety competent Was gaged by our king, which had returned To the inheritance of Fotinbras, Had he been vanquisher, as, by the same comart And carriage of the article designed, His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, Of unimproved me[le hot and full, Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there Shark’d up a list of lawless resolutes, For food and diet, to some enterprise That hath a stomach in’t; which is no other, As it doth well appear unto our state, But to recover of us, by strong hand And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands So by his father lost. . . . Horatio giving a backstory of the state of Hamlet’s world.
Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!Is it not monstrous that this player here,But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,Could force his soul so to his own conceitThat from her working all his visage wanned,Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,A broken voice, and his whole function suitingWith forms to his conceit? Part of Hamlet’s now I am alone soliloquy.
What’s Hecuba to him or he to HecubaThat he should weep for her? What would he doHad he the motive and the cue for passionThat I have? He would drown the stage with tearsAnd cleave the general ear with horrid speech,Make mad the guilty and appall the free,Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeedThe very faculties of eyes and ears. Part of Hamlet’s now I am alone soliloquy.
Yet I,A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peakLike John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,And can say nothing—no, not for a king,Upon whose property and most dear lifeA damned defeat was made. Am I a coward?Who calls me “villain”? Breaks my pate across?Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face?Tweaks me by the nose? Gives me the lie i’ th’ throatAs deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? Part of Hamlet’s now I am alone soliloquy.
‘Swounds, I should take it, for it cannot beBut I am pigeon-livered and lack gallTo make oppression bitter, or ere thisI should have fatted all the region kitesWith this slave’s offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!O vengeance! Part of Hamlet’s now I am alone soliloquy.
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,That I, the son of a dear father murdered,Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,Must, like a *****, unpack my heart with wordsAnd fall a-cursing like a very drab,A scullion! Fie upon ‘t, foh! Part of Hamlet’s now I am alone soliloquy.
About, my brain.—Hum, I have heardThat guilty creatures sitting at a playHave, by the very cunning of the scene,Been struck so to the soul that presentlyThey have proclaimed their malefactions.For murder, though it have no tongue, will speakWith most miraculous organ. I’ll have these playersPlay something like the murder of my fatherBefore mine uncle. I’ll observe his looks.I’ll tent him to the quick. Part of Hamlet’s now I am alone soliloquy.
If he do blench,I know my course. The spirit that I have seenMay be the devil, and the devil hath powerT’ assume a pleasing shape. Yea, and perhapsOut of my weakness and my melancholy,As he is very potent with such spirits,Abuses me to damn me. I’ll have groundsMore relative than this. The play’s the thingWherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king. Part of Hamlet’s now I am alone soliloquy.
To be, or not to be? That is the question—Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe 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 endThe heartache and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to—’tis a consummationDevoutly to be wished! Part of Hamlet’s to be or not to be soliloquy.
To die, to sleep.To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub,For in that sleep of death what dreams may comeWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause. There’s the respectThat makes calamity of so long life.For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,The insolence of office, and the spurnsThat patient merit of th’ unworthy takes,When he himself might his quietus makeWith a bare bodkin? Part of Hamlet’s to be or not to be soliloquy.
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 bournNo traveler returns, puzzles the willAnd makes us rather bear those ills we haveThan fly to others that we know not of? Part of Hamlet’s to be or not to be soliloquy.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,And thus the native hue of resolutionIs sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thoughtAnd enterprises of great pith and momentWith this regard their currents turn awry,And lose the name of action. Part of Hamlet’s to be or not to be soliloquy.
Get thee to a nunnery. Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me. Hamlet’s view of women, when he is talking to Ophelia.
I have heard of your paintings too, well enough. God has given you one face and you make yourselves another. You jig and amble, and you lisp, you nickname God’s creatures and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I’ll no more on ‘t. It hath made me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages. Those that are married already, all but one, shall live. The rest shall keep as they are. To a nunnery, go. Hamlet’s view of women, when he is talking to Ophelia.
Oh, throw away the worser part of it,And live the purer with the other half.Good night—but go not to mine uncle’s bed.Assume a virtue if you have it not.That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,Of habits devil, is angel yet in this:That to the use of actions fair and goodHe likewise gives a frock or liveryThat aptly is put on. Refrain tonight,And that shall lend a kind of easinessTo the next abstinence, the next more easy. Hamlet’s view of women, when he is talking to Gertrude.
The death I gave him. So, again, good night.I must be cruel only to be kind.Thus bad begins and worse remains behind. Hamlet’s view of women, when he is talking to Gertrude.
Thou pray’st not well.I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat,For though I am not splenitive and rash,Yet have I something in me dangerous,Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand. Hamlet the Dane, dueling Laertes.
‘Swounds, show me what thou’lt do.Woo’t weep? Woo’t fight? Woo’t fast? Woo’t tear thyself?Woo’t drink up eisel, eat a crocodile?I’ll do ‘t. Dost thou come here to whine,To outface me with leaping in her grave?Be buried quick with her?—and so will I.And if thou prate of mountains let them throwMillions of acres on us, till our ground,Singeing his pate against the burning zone,Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou’lt mouth,I’ll rant as well as thou. Hamlet the Dane, dueling Laertes.
O, treble woe Fall ten times double on that cursed head Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense Deprived thee of! Hold off the earth awhile, Till I have caught her once more in mine arms. Leaps into the grave Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead Till of this flat a mountain you have made To o’ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head Of blue Olympus. Laertes talking to Hamlet at their duel.
I loved ______. Forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? . . . . ‘Swounds, show me what thou’t do. Woo’t weep? woo’t fight? woo’t fast? woo’t tear thyself? Woo’t drink up eisel? eat a crocodile? I’ll do’t. Dost thou come here to whine? To oulace me with leaping in her grave? Be buried quick with her, and so will I. And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw Millions of acres on us, till our ground, Singeing his pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou’lt mouth, I’ll rant as well as thou. Hamlet describing his love for Ophelia at the end of the play.
O, I die, Horatio; The potent poison quite o’er-crows my spirit: I cannot live to hear the news from England; But I do prophesy the election lights On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice; So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less, Which have solicited. The rest is silence. Hamlet’s dying words.

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