My uncle!

O my prophetic soul!

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 5,

Ibid.

O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;
Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,
My custom always of the afternoon.

Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousell'd, disappointed, unaneled,

No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my

head.

Ibid

Ibid.

Leave her to heaven

And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her.

Ibid.

The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire.

Ibid.

While memory holds a seat

In this distracted globe. Remember thee!
Yea, from the table of my memory

I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.

Ibid.

Within the book and volume of my brain.

Ibid.

O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
My tables, meet it is I set it down,

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain :
At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark.

Ibid.

Ham. There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark But he's an arrant knave.

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave

To tell us this.

Every man has business and desire, Such as it is.

Art thou there, truepenny?

Come on you hear this fellow in the cellarage.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid

O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 5.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!

The time is out of joint: O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right!

The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,
A savageness in unreclaimed blood.

This is the very ecstasy of love.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

Brevity is the soul of wit.1

Sc. 2.

More matter, with less art.

Ibid.

That he is mad, 't is true: 't is true 't is pity;
And pity 't is 't is true.

Ibid.

Find out the cause of this effect, Or rather say, the cause of this defect, For this effect defective comes by cause.

Ibid.

Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love.

Ibid.

To be honest as this world goes, is to be one man

Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.

Ibid.

On fortune's cap we are not the very button.

Ibid.

1 A short saying oft contains much wisdom.-SOPHOCLES: Aletes, frag.99

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking

makes it so.

A dream itself is but a shadow.

Hamlet. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks.

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!

Man delights not me: no, nor woman neither.

Ibid.

Ibid.

There is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.

Ibid.

I know a hawk from a handsaw.

Ibid.

O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!

Ibid.

One fair daughter and no more,

The which he loved passing well.

Come, give us a taste of your quality.

Ibid.

Ibid.

The play, I remember, pleased not the million; 't was caviare to the general.

Ibid.

They are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time: after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.

Ibid.

Use every man after his desert, and who should 'scape whipping?

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,

Ibid.

That he should weep for her?

Ibid

Unpack my heart with words,

And fall a-cursing, like a very drab.

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 2.

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak

With most miraculous organ.1

Ibid.

With devotion's visage

And pious action we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.

Ibid.

Act iii. Sc. 1.

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 't is 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, - 't is a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd.

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: there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make

1 See Chaucer, page 5.

1

With a bare bodkin? who would fardels 1 bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
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?
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,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remember'd.

Hamlet. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.

I am myself indifferent honest.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go.

Ibid.

I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.

Ibid.

O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!

The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's eye, tongue, sword.

Ibid.

The expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
The observed of all observers !

Ibid.

Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.

Ibid.

O, woe is me,

To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

1 "Who would these fardels" in White.

Ibid.