| Line | Character |
|---|
| There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy | |
| To be, or not to be, that is the question | |
| Neither a borrower nor a lender be | |
| Brevity is the soul of wit | |
| The glass of fashion and the mold of form, th' observed of all observers... | |
| Good night, sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! | |
| What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her? | |
| 'tis brief, my lord/as woman's love (Two People) | |
| For 'tis the sport to have the enginer hoist with his own petard. | |
| 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 | |
| There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so | |
| ...for thou hast been as one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, a man that Fortune's buffets and rewards hast ta'en with equal thanks | |
| Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageious fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them | |
| There's rosemary, that's for remembrance...And there is pansies; that's for thoughts | |
| The lady doth protest too much, methinks | |
| O, that this too too sullied flesh would melt... | |
| Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. | |
| Get thee to a nunnery | |
| A little more than kin, and less than kind | |
| Murder most foul, as in the best it is... | |
| Frailty, thy name is woman! | |
| To die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub | |
| Something is rotten in the state of Denmark | |
| The time is out of joint. O cursed spite that ever I was born to set it right! | |
| | Line | Character |
|---|
| This above all: to thine own self be true | |
| 'A was a man. Take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again | |
| I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant. It out-Herods Herod | |
| Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't | |
| More matter, with less art | |
| Words, words, words | |
| That he's mad, 'tis true; 'tis true 'tis pity, and pity 'tis 'tis true | |
| The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King. | |
| Not a whit, we defy augury. there is special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it wil | |
| What a piece of work is a man! | |
| Thus conscience does make cowards of us all | |
| 'Tis now the very witching time of night | |
| The cess of majesty dies not alone, but like a gulf doth draw what's near it with it | |
| ...the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is to hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature | |
| There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will | |
| The cat will mew, and dog will have his day | |
| Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature | |
| A hit, a very palpable hit. | |
| How all occasions do inform against me and spur my dull revenge! | |
| Rightly to be great is not to stir without great argument, but greatly to find quarrel in a straw when honor's at the stake | |
| O, my prophetic soul! | |
| When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions | |
| How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world! | |
|
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