Who said it? Hamlet

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For 'tis the sport to have the enginer hoist with his own petard.
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her?
A hit, a very palpable hit.
Frailty, thy name is woman!
I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant. It out-Herods Herod
To be, or not to be, that is the question
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
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day
The lady doth protest too much, methinks
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions
This above all: to thine own self be true
O, that this too too sullied flesh would melt...
To die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub
There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will
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
...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
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't
'Tis now the very witching time of night
'tis brief, my lord/as woman's love (Two People)
Neither a borrower nor a lender be
A little more than kin, and less than kind
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all
LineCharacter
O, my prophetic soul!
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
More matter, with less art
Words, words, words
Brevity is the soul of wit
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance...And there is pansies; that's for thoughts
The cess of majesty dies not alone, but like a gulf doth draw what's near it with it
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy
Murder most foul, as in the best it is...
...the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is to hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature
The time is out of joint. O cursed spite that ever I was born to set it right!
Get thee to a nunnery
Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature
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
The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.
Good night, sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so
The glass of fashion and the mold of form, th' observed of all observers...
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark
How all occasions do inform against me and spur my dull revenge!
'A was a man. Take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again
What a piece of work is a man!
That he's mad, 'tis true; 'tis true 'tis pity, and pity 'tis 'tis true

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