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!