Hamlet: Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Ophelia: 'Tis brief, my lord. Hamlet: As woman's love.
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
Said Hamlet to Ophelia, I'll draw a sketch of thee. What kind of pencil shall I use? 2B or not 2B?
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire, The chariest maid is prodigal enough If she unmasks her beauty to the moon.
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil! Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation: To this point I stand,-- That both the worlds I give to negligence, Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd.
There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
With devotion's visage and pious action we do sugar o'er the devil himself.
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