Fiction about poisonings

"Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife."

"Sampson: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. Gregory: That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. Sampson: 'Tis true; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall and thrust his maids to the wall."

"Sampson: When I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids; I will cut off their heads. Gregory: The heads of the maids? Sampson: Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt."

"Abraham: Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sampson: I do bite my thumb, sir. Abraham: Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sampson: [Aside to to Gregory] Is the law of our side, if I say ay? Gregory: No. Sampson: No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir."

"Gregory, remember thy swashing blow."

"What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee."

"Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate."

"An hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east."

"But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun."

"Benvolio: What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Romeo: Not having that which, having, makes them short. Benvolio: In love? Romeo: Out— Benvolio: Of love? Romeo: Out of her favour, where I am in love."

"Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!"

"Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine."

"Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet."

"From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd."

"He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost."

"My child is yet a stranger in the world; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years: Let two more summers wither in their pride Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride."

"This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more."

"One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish."

"Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow."

"One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun."

"That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, That in gold clasps locks in the golden story."

"God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish."

"Why, he's a man of wax."

"Romeo: Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. Mercutio: If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down."

"Romeo: I dreat a dream to-night. Mercutio: And so did I. Romeo: Well, what was yours? Mercutio: That dreamers often lie."

"O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep: Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; Her traces, of the smallest spider's web; Her collars, of the moonshine's watery beams; Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film; Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid: Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers: And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight; O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Then he dreams of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two, And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, Which once untangled much misfortune bodes: This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage."

"Romeo: Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing. Mercutio: True, I talk of dreams; Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes, Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south."

"But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail!"

"Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days."

"O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!"

"So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows."

"Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."

"Romeo: If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Juliet: Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. Romeo: Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? Juliet: Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Romeo: O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. Juliet: Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. Romeo. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips by thine my sin is purged. [Kissing her] Juliet: Then have my lips the sin that they have took. Romeo: Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again. Juliet. You kiss by the book."

"My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late!"

"Steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks."

"But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, Tempering extremities with extreme sweet."

"Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but 'ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove.'"

"He jests at scars that never felt a wound."

"But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!"

"See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!"

"O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet."

"'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for thy name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself."

"I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo."

"For stony limits cannot hold love out: And what love can do, that dares love attempt."

"Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords."

"At lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs."

"O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable."

"Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry."

"Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.'"

"Romeo: O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? Juliet: What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? Romeo: The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. Juliet: I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again. Romeo: Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? Juliet: But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite."

"Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks."

"It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!"

"And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this."

"'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no farther than a wanton's bird, Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty."

"Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say good night till it be morrow."

"The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light."

"The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; What is her burying grave, that is her womb."

"For nought so vile that on the earth doth live, But to the earth some special good doth give; Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime's by action dignified."

"Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied."

"Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign."

"Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combined, save what thou must combine By holy marriage: when, and where, and how, We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us to-day."

"Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes."

"Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast."

"I am the very pink of courtesy."

"Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce."

"A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month."

"Two may keep counsel, putting one away."

"Love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams Driving back shadows over louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings."

"These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder Which as they kiss consume."

"The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite."

"Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow."

"O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint."

"Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth."

"The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl; For now these hot days is the mad blood stirring."

"Thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody and as soon moody to be moved."

"Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes."

"Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat."

"Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this,—thou art a villain."

"Mercutio: O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away. [Draws] Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? Tybalt: What wouldst thou have with me? Mercutio: Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives."

"I am hurt; A plague o' both your houses! I am sped."

"Benvolio: What, art thou hurt? Mercutio: Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough."

"Romeo: 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 to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses!"

"Mercutio: Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. Romeo: I thought all for the best. Mercutio: Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms' meat of me: I have it, And soundly too: your houses!"

"This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got this mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander,—Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman: O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, And in my temper soften'd valour's steel!"

"O, I am fortune's fool!"

"Lady Capulet: I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. Prince: Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? Montague: Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. Prince: And for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence: I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding; But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine, That you shall all repent the loss of mine: I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses: Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body, and attend our will: Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill."

"For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back."

"Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of Heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun."

"So tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them."

"Every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence."

"O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign, end motion here, And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!"

"O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! ... A damned saint, an honourable villain!"

"O, that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace!"

"There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all are perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers."

"He was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth."

"Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity."

"O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!"

"They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand."

"'Banished'? O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howling attends it: how hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word 'banished'?"

"Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy."

"Taking the measure of an unmade grave."

"Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale."

"It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops: I must be gone and live, or stay and die."

"It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps."

"Farewell, farewell, one kiss and I'll descend."

"All these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come."

"O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle."

"Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit."

"Villain and he be many miles asunder."

"Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?"

"Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, Give me some present counsel; or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy."

"O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave, And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that to hear them told, have made me tremble; And I will do it without fear or doubt. To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love."

"Thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, deprived of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death."

"Hire me twenty cunning cooks."

"Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty."

"I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life."

"Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field."

"O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day! Most lamentable day, most woeful day, That ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this: O woeful day, O woeful day!"

"She's not well married that lives married long, But she's best married that dies married young."

"All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral: Our instruments to melancholy bells; Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast; Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change; Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary."

"If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne, And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts."

"And her immortal part with angels lives."

"O mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!"

"I do remember an apothecary, And hereabouts a' dwells, which late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks; Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said, An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him."

"Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut."

"Let me have A dram of poison; such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins, That the life-weary taker may fall dead, And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb."

"The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this."

"There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell: I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none."

"Her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd."

"How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death."

"Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there."

"Shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous, And that the lean abhorrèd monster keeps Thee here in the dark to be his paramour?"

"Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!"

"O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die."

"Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rest, and let me die."

"Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! And I, for winking at your discords too, Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd."

"A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun for sorrow will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd and some punishèd: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

"You come most carefully upon your hour."

"And I am sick at heart."

"Not a mouse stirring."

"And let us once again assail your ears, That are so fortified against our story, What we have two nights seen."

"When yond same star that’s westward from the pole Had made his course t’ illume that part of heaven Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, The bell then beating one—"

"It harrows me with fear and wonder."

"What art thou that usurp’st this time of night, Together with that fair and warlike form In which the majesty of buried Denmark Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee speak!"

"But in the gross and scope of mine opinion This bodes some strange eruption to our state."

"A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye. In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. As stars with trains of fire, and dews of blood Disasters in the sun; and the moist star Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse. And even the like precurse of feared events As harbingers preceding still the fates And prologue to the omen coming on, Have heaven and earth together demonstrated Unto our climatures and countrymen."

"Stay, illusion! If thou hast any sound or use of voice, Speak to me. If there be any good thing to be done That may to thee do ease, and grace to me, Speak to me. If thou art privy to thy country’s fate, Which happily foreknowing may avoid, O speak! Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life Extorted treasure in the womb of earth, For which, they say, your spirits oft walk in death, Speak of it, stay and speak!"

"And our vain blows malicious mockery."

"And then it [the ghost] started like a guilty thing Upon a fearful summons. I have heard The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat Awake the god of day, and at his warning, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, Th’ extravagant and erring spirit hies To his confine."

"Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long, And then they say no spirit dare stir abroad, The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallowed, and so gracious, is that time."

"But look, the morn in russet mantle clad Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill."

"Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death, The memory be green, and that it us befitted To bear our hearts in grief and our whole kingdom To be contracted in one brow of woe."

"Therefore our sometime sister, now our Queen. Th' imperial jointress to this warlike state, Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy, With an auspicious and a dropping eye, With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage, In equal scale weighing delight and dole, Taken to wife."

"The head is not more native to the heart, The hand no more instrumental to the mouth, Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. What wouldst thou have, Laertes?"

"He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave By laboursome petition, and at last Upon his will, I sealed my hard consent."

"Claudius: But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,— Hamlet: [Aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind. Claudius: How is it that the clouds still hang on you? Hamlet: Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun."

"Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Do not be forever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust: Thou know'st tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity."

"Seems, madam! Nay, it is; I know not 'seems.'"

"'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected havior of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, That can denote me truly: these indeed seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within which passeth show; These but the trappings and the suits of woe."

"O! that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw and resolve itself into a dew;"

"How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world."

"Frailty, thy name is woman!"

"O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourned longer----married with my uncle, My father's brother."

"But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue!"

"O, that this too too solid flesh would melt Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. 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, even she---- O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourn'd longer----married with my uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules: within a month: Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! It is not nor it cannot come to good: But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue."

"Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!"

"In my mind's eye, Horatio."

"He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again."

"A countenance more in sorrow than in anger."

"If it assume my noble father's person, I'll speak to it though Hell itself should gape And bid me hold my peace."

"Give it an understanding, but no tongue."

"My father's spirit in arms! all is not well; I doubt some foul play: would the night were come! Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes."

"For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more."

"Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven, Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own rede."

"Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar."

"Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment."

"Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man,"

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend,"

"This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man."

"But to my mind, — though I am native here And to the manner born, — it is a custom More honour'd in the breach than the observance."

"Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pin's fee; And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself?"

"Something is rotten in the state of Denmark."

"My hour is almost come, When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames Must render up myself."

"And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:"

"Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural."

"The serpent that did sting thy father's life Now wears his crown."

"Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin."

"O horrible, O horrible! most horrible!"

"O most pernicious woman! 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."

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

"How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself — As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on."

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

"Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief."

"More matter with less art."

"That he is mad, 'tis true; 'tis true 'tis pity; And pity 'tis 'tis true: a foolish figure; But farewell it, for I will use no art."

"Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love."

"Polonius: Do you know me, my lord? Hamlet: Excellent well; you're a fishmonger. Polonius: Not I, my lord. Hamlet Then I would you were so honest a man. Polonius: Honest, my lord! Hamlet: Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. Polonius: That's very true, my lord. Hamlet: [Reads] For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion, — Have you a daughter? Polonius: I have, my lord. Hamlet: Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a blessing: but not as your daughter may conceive; — friend, look to 't. Polonius: [Aside] How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter: — yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger: he is far gone, far gone: and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; very near this."

"Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words."

"Polonius: [Aside] Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't. — Will you walk out of the air, my lord? Hamlet: Into my grave."

"Polonius: My honored lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you. Hamlet: You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal — except my life — except my life — except my life."

"Hamlet: My excellent good friends! How dost thou Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do you both? Rosencrantz: As indifferent as children of the earth. Guildenstern: Happy in that we are not overhappy; on Fortune's cap we are not the very button. Hamlet: Nor the soles of her shoe? Rosencrantz: Neither, my lord. Hamlet: Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours? Guildenstern: Faith, her privates we. Hamlet: In the secret parts of Fortune? O, most true! She is a strumpet. What's the news? Rosencrantz: None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest. Hamlet: Then is doomsday near."

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."

"I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams."

"Which dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream."

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

"I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises, and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that 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 then 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, in moving, how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me; no, nor woman neither, though, by your smiling, you seem to say so."

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

"O! what a rogue and peasant slave am I!"

"What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?"

"That I, the son of a dear father murdered, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must like a whore unpack my heart with words, and fall a-cursing like a very drab"

"The spirit that I have seen May be the devil: and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds More relative than this: the play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king."

"I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw."

"We are oft to blame in this, — 'Tis too much prov'd, — that with devotion's visage, And pious action, we do sugar o'er The devil himself."

"To be, or not to be, — that is the question: — Whether 'tis 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 heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, — 'tis 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 despis'd 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 With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels 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 naught 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."

"Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! — Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd."

"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. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves all; believe none of us."

"Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind."

"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."

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

"O, woe is me To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!"

"Madness in great ones must not unwatched go."

"Gertrude: Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. Hamlet: No, good mother, here's metal more attractive. [Hamlet takes a place near Ophelia.]"

"Hamlet: Lady, shall I lie in your lap? Ophelia: No, my lord. Hamlet: I mean, my head upon your lap? Ophelia: Ay, my lord. Hamlet: Do you think I meant country matters?"

"So long? Nay, then, let the devil wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables. Oh heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"Claudius: What do you call the play? Hamlet: “The Mouse-trap.” Marry, how? Tropically: this play is the image of a murder done in Vienna; Gonzago is the duke’s name, his wife, Baptista. You shall see anon. ’Tis a knavish piece of work, but what of that? Your Majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not. Let the gall’d jade winch, our withers are unwrung."

"’A poisons him i’ th’ garden for his estate. His name’s Gonzago, the story is extant, and written in very choice Italian. You shall see anon how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago’s wife."

"Give me some light. Away!"

"Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me."

"Hamlet: Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel? Polonius: By th' Mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. Hamlet: Methinks it is like a weasel. Polonius: It is backed like a weasel. Hamlet: Or like a whale. Polonius: Very like a whale."

"Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter business, as the day Would quake to look on."

"Let me be cruel, not unnatural; I will speak daggers to her, but use none."

"O! my offence is rank, it smells to heaven."

"What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, — Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow?"

"Now might I do it pat, now he is praying; And now I'll do 't: and so he goes to heaven; And so am I reveng'd."

"My words fly up, my thoughts remain below; Words without thoughts never to heaven go."

"Hamlet: How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead! Polonius: Oh, I am slain!"

"Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! I took thee for thy better."

"Nay, but to live In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love Over the nasty sty."

"I must be cruel, only to be kind: Thus bad begins and worse remains behind."

"Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath, And breath of life, I have no life to breathe What thou hast said to me."

"So, haply, slander — Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, As level as the cannon to his blank, Transports his poisoned shot — may miss our name And hit the woundless air. — O, come away! My soul is full of discord and dismay."

"Rosencrantz: I understand you not, my lord. Hamlet: I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear. Rosencrantz: 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."

"Hamlet: A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm. Claudius: What dost thou mean by this? Hamlet: Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar."

"Claudius: Where is Polonius? Hamlet: In heaven; send thither to see. If your messenger find him not there, seek him i' the other place yourself. But, indeed, if you find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby."

"How all occasions do inform against me, And spur my dull revenge! What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and godlike reason To fust in us unused. Now whether it be Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple Of thinking too precisely on th' event - A thought which, quartered, hath but part wisdom And ever three parts coward - I do not know Why yet I live to say "This thing's to do," Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means To do't."

"O! from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!"

"We know what we are, but know not what we may be."

"Good-night, ladies; good-night, sweet ladies; good-night, good-night."

"When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions."

"I'm lost in it, my lord. But let him come; It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, 'Thus diest thou.'"

"There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes; As one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element: but long it could not be Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death."

"Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears."

"Alas! poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that."

"Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring!"

"This is I, Hamlet the Dane!"

"I lov'd Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum."

"Hear you sir; What is the reason that you use me thus? I lov'd you ever: but it is no matter. Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew, and dog will have his day."

"There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will."

"That's two of his weapons: but, well."

"We defy augury; there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all."

"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."

"If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, To tell my story."

"Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

"The sight is dismal; And our affairs from England come too late: The ears are senseless that should give us hearing, To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd, That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead: Where should we have our thanks?"

"Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage."

"Go, bid the soldiers shoot."