Neither a borrower nor a lender be;

For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Springes to catch woodcocks.

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 3.

When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows.

Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence.
Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.

But to my mind, though I am native here

And to the manner born, it is a custom

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Act i. Sc. 4.

More honoured in the breach than the observance. Ibid.

Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!

Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned,

Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,

Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou comest in such a questionable shape,

That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!

Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurned,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature

So horridly to shake our disposition

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?

I do not set my life at a pin's fee.

My fate cries out,

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 4.

Ibid.

And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.

Unhand me, gentlemen.

By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me !

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

I am thy father's spirit,

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Doomed for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires,1
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,

I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part
And each particular hair to stand an end,
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine: 2
But this eternal blazon must not be

To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!

Act i. Sc. 5.

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf.

O my prophetic soul!

Ibid.

My uncle!

O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 5.

But soft! methinks I scent the morning air;
Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,
My custom always of the afternoon.

Ibid.

Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,

Unhouselled, disappointed, unaneled,

No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.

Ibid.

Leave her to heaven

And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,

To prick and sting her.

Ibid.

The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire.

Ibid.

While memory holds a seat

In this distracted globe. Remember thee!

Yea, from the table of my memory

I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.

Ibid.

Within the book and volume of

my

brain.

Ibid.

My tables,

meet it is I set it down,

O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain

At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark.

Ibid.

Ham. There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Den

mark

But he's an arrant knave.

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the

Come on

Art thou there, truepenny?
you hear this fellow in the cellarage.

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 5.

O day and night, but this is wondrous strange! Ibid.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

1

Than are dreamt of in your 1 philosophy.

Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!

The time is out of joint: O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right!
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,
A savageness in unreclaimed blood.

This is the very ecstasy of love.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

More matter, with less art.

Ibid.

That he is mad, 't is true: 't is true 't is pity;

And pity 't is 't is true.

Ibid.

Find out the cause of this effect, Or rather say, the cause of this defect, For this effect defective comes by cause.

Ibid.

Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.

Hamlet. Act ii. Sc. 2.

On fortune's cap we are not the very button.

Ibid.

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks.

Ibid.

Ibid.

This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god!

Man delights not me: no, nor woman neither.

Ibid.

Ibid.

I know a hawk from a handsaw.

Ibid.

O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!

Ibid.

One fair daughter, and no more,

The which he loved passing well.

Come, give us a taste of your quality.

Ibid.

Ibid.

't was caviare to the general.

The play, I remember, pleased not the million;

Ibid.

They are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time: after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.

Ibid.

Use every man after his desert, and who should 'scape whipping?

Ibid.