Hamlet Quotes

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.

To be, or not to be: that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;No more; and by a sleep to say we endThe heart-ache and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummationDevoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;For in that sleep of death what dreams may comeWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause: there's the respectThat makes calamity of so long life;For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,The insolence of office and the spurnsThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,When he himself might his quietus makeWith a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,To grunt and sweat under a weary life,But that the dread of something after death,The undiscover'd country from whose bournNo traveller returns, puzzles the willAnd makes us rather bear those ills we haveThan fly to others that we know not of?Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;And thus the native hue of resolutionIs sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,And enterprises of great pith and momentWith this regard their currents turn awry,And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisonsBe all my sins remember'd!

Doubt thou the stars are fire Doubt thou the sun doth moveDoubt truth to be a liar But never doubt I love

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

To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub,For in this sleep of death what dreams may come...

There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

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

Brevity is the soul of wit.

Listen to many, speak to a few.

One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.

Conscience doth make cowards of us all.

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince;And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Sweets to the sweet.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies. But in battalions!

Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.

God hath given you one face, and you make yourself another.

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form, in moving, how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

Words, words, words.

I must be cruel only to be kind;Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.

If we are true to ourselves, we can not be false to anyone.

So full of artless jealousy is guilt,It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.

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! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

The rest, is silence.

Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep.

The Devil hath powerTo assume a pleasing shape.

O God, I could be bound in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space – were it not that I have bad dreams.

To be or not to be that is the question.

You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.

The Play's the Thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.

I am very proud, revengeful,ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I havethoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape,or time to act them in.

Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel?Polonius: By the mass, and ‘tis like a camel, indeed.Hamlet: Methinks it is like a weasel.Polonius: It is backed like a weasel.Hamlet:Or like a whale?Polonius: Very like a whale.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.

Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be.

Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.

Get thee to a nunnery, go.

Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,Rough-hew them how we will.

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself king of infinite space.

There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.

Remember me.

What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.

Olmak ya da olmamak, işte bütün mesele bu!Düşüncemizin katlanması mı güzel Zalim kaderin yumruklarına, oklarına Yoksa diretip bela denizlerine karşı Dur, yeter demesi mi?Ölmek, uyumak sadece!Düşünün ki uyumakla yalnız Bitebilir bütün acıları yüreğin, Çektiği bütün kahırlar insanoğlunun. Uyumak, ama düş görebilirsin uykuda, o kötü. Çünkü, o ölüm uykularındaSıyrıldığımız zaman yaşamak kaygısındanNe düşler görebilir insan, düşünmeli bunu. Bu düşüncedir felaketleri yaşanır yapan. Yoksa kim dayanabilir zamanın kırbacına? Zorbanın kahrına, gururunun çiğnenmesine Sevgisinin kepaze edilmesine Kanunların bu kadar yavaş Yüzsüzlüğün bu kadar çabuk yürümesineKötülere kul olmasına iyi insanın Bir bıçak saplayıp göğsüne kurtulmak varken? Kim ister bütün bunlara katlanmak Ağır bir hayatın altında inleyip terlemekÖlümden sonraki bir şeyden korkmasaO kimsenin gidip de dönmediği bilinmez dünya Ürkütmese yüreğini? Bilmediğimiz belalara atılmaktansa Çektiklerine razı etmese insanları? Bilinç böyle korkak ediyor hepimizi: Düşüncenin soluk ışığı bulandırıyor Yürekten gelenin doğal rengini. Ve nice büyük, yiğitçe atılışlar Yollarını değiştirip bu yüzdenBir iş, bir eylem olma gücünü yitiriyorlar.W. Shakespeare / Hamlet