Fiction About Poisonings

"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."

"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."