To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
Though she be but little, she is fierce!
Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:This wide and universal theatrePresents more woeful pageants than the sceneWherein we play in.
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,Which gives men stomach to digest his wordsWith better appetite.
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
There's daggers in men's smiles
The summer's flower is to the summer sweetThough to itself it only live and die
Suffer love! A good ephitet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will.
Shall we their fond pageant see?Lord, what fools these mortals be!
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,...
Presume not that I am the thing I was.
POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord?HAMLET: Words, words, words.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorge...
O, that this too too solid flesh would meltThaw and resolve itself into a dew!Or that the Everlasting had not fix'dHis canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,...
O serpent heart hid with a flowering face!Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave?Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just...
Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.
Love is not loveWhich alters when alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove:Oh, no, it is an ever-fixèd mark,that looks on tempests and is never shaken.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,And then is heard no more. It is a taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,Signifying nothing.
Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play thefool no where but in's own house.
Let me have men about me that are fat... Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.