Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
To take arms against a sea of troubles.
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?
There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.
O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
The time is out of joint : O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
From this time forth My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
This above all; to thine own self be true.
To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come.
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought
The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below
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?
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.
or simply:
