Hamlets

And keep you in the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire,
The chariest maid is prodigal enough
If she unmasks her beauty to the moon.

Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart?

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing of her gallèd eyes,
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her?

Tis too much proved—that with devotion's visage
And pious action we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.

For this relief, much thanks

A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting;
The perfume and suppliance of a minute;
No more.

While he was drunk asleep, or in his rage, or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed.

and the rest is silence

Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?

O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else?
And shall I couple Hell?

Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,
Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock or livery
That aptly is put on. Refrain tonight,
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence; the next more easy;
For use almost can change the stamp of nature.

Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.

For some must watch, while some must sleep
So runs the world away

Blest are those
Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled,
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please.

Our wills and fates do so contrary run.

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my tears.

There is method in my madness.

He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.

death,
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns,