I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.
O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads And recks not his own read.
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember.
Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered!
From this time forth My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
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 not of?
To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
I shall the effect of this good lesson keeps as watchman to my heart.
A man can smile and smile and be a villain.
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?
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below
or simply:
