And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish’d from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish’d from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion.
The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch, which hurts and is desired.
The course of true love never did run smooth; But, either it was different in blood,
O cross! too high to be enthrall’d to low.
Or else misgraffed in respect of years,
O spite! too old to be engag’d to young.
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,
O hell! to choose love by another’s eye.
The summer’s flower is to the summer sweetThough to itself it only live and die
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell,
To die upon the hand I love so well.
This life, which had been the tomb of his virtue and of his honour, is but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Who knows himself a braggart, let him fear this, for it will come to pass that every braggart shall be found an ass.
There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.
Of all the wonders that I have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.
(Act II, Scene 2)
How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world.
Love moderately. Long love doth so.
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
*Love each other in moderation. That is the key to long-lasting love. Too fast is as bad as too slow.*
I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.
I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.
For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?
If love be rough with you, be rough with love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
Give me a case to put my visage in:
A visor for a visor! what care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.
William Shakespeare
Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. then your love would also change.
Men must endureTheir going hence, even as their coming hither.Ripeness is all.
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.Mercutio: No, ’tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but ’tis enough, ’twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.
Good Madonna, why mournest thou?Good Fool, for my brother’s death.I think his soul is in hell, Madonna.I know his soul is in heaven, Fool. The more fool, Madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul being in heaven.
Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar’s angel:Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him!This was the most unkindest cut of all
Full fathom five thy father lies;Of his bones are coral made;Those are pearls that were his eyes:Nothing of him that doth fade,But doth suffer a sea-changeInto something rich and strange.Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong Hark! now I hear them,—Ding-dong, bell.
This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.
Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is’t thou say’st? Her voice was ever soft.
Where is Polonius? HAMLET In heaven. Send hither to see. If your messenger find him not there, seek him i’ th’ other place yourself. But if indeed you find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.
O my love, my wife!Death, that hath suck’d the honey of thy breathHath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
And will ‘a not come again? And will ‘a not come again? No, no, he is dead, Go to thy death bed: He will never come again.
Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips, oh you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death!
I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?
The evil that men do lives after them;The good is oft interred with their bones.
O, hereWill I set up my everlasting rest,And shake the yoke of inauspicious starsFrom this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O youThe doors of breath, seal with a righteous kissA dateless bargain to engrossing death!
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;Life and these lips have long been separated:Death lies on her like an untimely frostUpon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Who could refrain,
That had a heart to love, and in that heart
Courage to make love known?
Sweets to the sweet, farewell! I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet’s wife; I thought thy bride-bed to have decked, sweet maid, And not have strewed thy grave.
Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him,And all their ministers attend on him.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.
Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;Make dust our paper and with rainy eyesWrite sorrow on the bosom of the earth,Let’s choose executors and talk of wills
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.
Too much of water hast thou poor Ophelia, and therefore I forbid my tears.But yet it is our trick, let shame say what it will. when these are gone the women will be out!Adieu my lord, I have a speech of fire that fane would blaze, But that this folly doubts it.
But thoughts the slave of life, and life, Time’s fool,And Time, that takes survey of all the world,Must have a stop.
One pain is lessened by another’s anguish. … Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.
Of all knowledge, the wise and good seek mostly to know themselves.
When he shall die,Take him and cut him out in little stars,And he will make the face of heaven so fineThat all the world will be in love with nightAnd pay no worship to the garish sun.
There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’stBut in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring [making music] to the young-eyed cherubins; Such harmony is in immortal souls,But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it.
My lord, you must tell us where the body is, and go with us to the king.HAMLET The body is with the king, but the king is not with the body. The king is a thing -GUILDENSTERN A thing my lord?HAMLET Of nothing. Bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after!