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Hamlet

Book by William Shakespeare · 50 quotes · Hamlet, William Shakespeare, Death

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Hamlet Quotes

“When Rosencrantz asks Hamlet, "Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do surely bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your grief to your friends"(III, ii, 844-846), Hamlet responds, "Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me." (III,ii, 371-380)”

Grief
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“Seems,' madam? Nay, it is. I know not 'seems'. 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, nor customary suits of solemn black, nor windy suspiration of forced breath, no, nor the fruitful river in the eye, nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage, together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, that can denote me truly. These indeed 'seem'; for they are actions that a man might play. But I have that within which passes show - these but the trappings and the suits of woe.”

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“To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The 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 end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly 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 come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect That 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 spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With 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 bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.--Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd!”

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“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 godlike reason To fust in us unused. Now, whether it be Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple Of thinking too precisely on th'event - A thought which, quartered, hath but one part wisdom And ever three parts coward - I do not know Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do', Sith I have cause, and will, and strength and means To do't.”

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“The single and peculiar mind is bound With all the strength and armor of the mind To keep itself from noyance, but much more That spirit upon whose weal depends and rests The lives of many. The cess of majesty Dies not alone, but like a gulf doth draw What's near it with it; or it is a massy wheel Fixed on the summit of the highest mount, To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things Are mortised and adjoined, which, when it falls, Each small annexment, petty consequence, Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.”

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“give order that these bodies High on a stage by placed to the view. And let me speak to the unknowing world How these things came about. So shall you hear Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts, Of accidental judgements, casual slaughters, Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause, And, in this upshot, purposes mistook Fallen on th'inventors' heads. All this can I Truly deliver.”

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“Mientras que, para vergüenza mía, estoy viendo la muerte inminente de estos veinte mil hombres, que por capricho y una ilusión de gloria corren a sus tumbas cual si fueran lechos, y pelean por un trozo de tierra tan reducido que no ofrece espacio a los combatientes para sostener la lucha, ni siquiera es un osario bastante capaz para enterrar a los muertos.”

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“Che la vostra prudenza sia la vostra guida: adattate l’azione al mondo, la parola all’azione, ma attenti a non oltrepassare la moderazione della natura: qualsiasi esagerazione è estranea allo scopo del dramma, il cui fine, in origine come ora, era ed è porgere uno specchio alla natura, mostrando alla virtù il suo aspetto, al vizio la sua immagine e all’età e al tempo la loro forma e la loro impronta.”

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“There is a willow grows askant the brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream. Therewith fantastic garlands did she make Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead-men's-fingers call them. There on the pendant boughs her crownet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke, When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide, And mermaid-like awhile they bore her up; Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes, As one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element.”

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“En la época más gloriosa y floreciente de Roma, poco antes de sucumbir el poderosísimo Julio, las tumbas quedaron vacías, y los difuntos, envueltos en sus mortajas, vagaban por las calles de Roma dando alaridos y confusas voces; viéronse también raros prodigios en el Cielo, comon estrellas de colas encendidas, lluvia de sangre y maleficio en el sol; y el húmedo planeta, a cuya influencia está sujeto el imperio de Neptuno, padeció eclipse, como si hubiera llega el día del Juicio Final.”

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“¡Ser o no ser, la alternativa es esa! Si es a la luz de la razón más digno sufrir los golpes y punzantes dardos de suerte horrenda, o terminar la lucha en guerra contra un piélago de males. Morir, dormir. No más, y con un sueño pensar que concluyeron las congojas, los mil tormentos de la carne herencia, debe término ser apetecido. Morir, dormir. ¿Dormir? ¡Soñar, acaso! ¡Ah!, la rémora es esa. Pues qué sueños podrán ser los que acaso sobrevengan en el dormir profundo de la muerte, ya de mortal envuelta despojados, suspende la razón: ahí el motivo que a la desgracia de tan larga vida.”

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“De no estarme prohibido descubrir los secretos de mi prisión, podría hacerte un relato cuya más insignificante palabra horrorizaría tu alma, helaría tu sangre joven, haría como estrellas saltar tus ojos de sus órbitas, y separaría tus compactos y enroscados bucles, poniendo de punta cada uno de tus cabellos como las púas del irritado puercoespín.”

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“¡Oh, corazón mío, no pierdas tu sensibilidad! ¡Que el alma de Nerón no halle cabida en este firme pecho! ¡Sea yo cruel, más no inhumano! ¡No usaré del puñal, aunque puñales serán para ella mis palabras! ¡Que mi lengua, como mi alma, sean en esto hipócritas, y por mucho que la amenace y la zahiera con mis execraciones, no consientas, alma mía, en sellarlas con la acción!”

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