Quotessence
Home / Topics / Hamlet Quotes

Hamlet Quotes

Browse 102 quotes about Hamlet.

Hamlet Quotes

“A thought expressed is a falsehood." In poetry what is not said and yet gleams through the beauty of the symbol, works more powerfully on the heart than that which is expressed in words. Symbolism makes the very style, the very artistic substance of poetry inspired, transparent, illuminated throughout like the delicate walls of an alabaster amphora in which a flame is ignited. Characters can also serve as symbols. Sancho Panza and Faust, Don Quixote and Hamlet, Don Juan and Falstaff, according to the words of Goethe, are "schwankende Gestalten." Apparitions which haunt mankind, sometimes repeatedly from age to age, accompany mankind from generation to generation. It is impossible to communicate in any words whatsoever the idea of such symbolic characters, for words only define and restrict thought, but symbols express the unrestricted aspect of truth. Moreover we cannot be satisfied with a vulgar, photographic exactness of experimental photoqraphv. We demand and have premonition of, according to the allusions of Flaubert, Maupassant, Turgenev, Ibsen, new and as yet undisclosed worlds of impressionability. This thirst for the unexperienced, in pursuit of elusive nuances, of the dark and unconscious in our sensibility, is the characteristic feature of the coming ideal poetry. Earlier Baudelaire and Edgar Allan Poe said that the beautiful must somewhat amaze, must seem unexpected and extraordinary. French critics more or less successfully named this feature - impressionism. Such are the three major elements of the new art: a mystical content, symbols, and the expansion of artistic impressionability. No positivistic conclusions, no utilitarian computation, but only a creative faith in something infinite and immortal can ignite the soul of man, create heroes, martyrs and prophets... People have need of faith, they need inspiration, they crave a holy madness in their heroes and martyrs. ("On The Reasons For The Decline And On The New Tendencies In Contemporary Literature")”

“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.”

“Like Hamlet, Goethe's Faust offers a wide panorama of scenes from the vulgar to the sublime, with passages of wondrous poetry that can be sensed even through the veil of translation. And it also preserves the iridescence of its modern theme. From it Oswald Spengler christened our Western culture 'Faustian,' and others too have found it an unexcelled metaphor for the infinitely aspiring always dissatisfied modern self. Goethe himself was wary of simple explanations. When his friends accused him of incompetence in metaphysics, he replied. 'I, being an artist, regard this as of little moment. Indeed, I prefer that the principle from which and through which I work should be hidden from me.”

“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.”

“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.”

“What Walks By Night by Stewart Stafford Jealous looks at earthly prowl, Or unbound by fleshly form, Seen under darkness’ cowl: Agitated ghost or hellspawn? Violence torments it from sleep, Or trapped inside by exorcist bait, Hexed glances corrupted, weep, As redress or perdition state. Jinxed trails of ashen flame, Unheard wails for living aid, Or gatecrash our human frame, As night and sunrise trade. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“They are near the bottom of the food chain - a meal for fish and birds - while humans eat from the top of the food chain, consuming an astonishing array of what lies on the planet. But eventually, even we become food for the worms. Shakespeare saw this connection, writing in Hamlet, "A man may fish with a worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of a fish that hath fed of that worm.”

“What are you reading?" Polonius asked. "Words, words, words," said Hamlet. "And what's the subject?" "Lesser than the king, but still not nothing." It took Polonius a moment to realize he had answered another meaning of 'subject.' "I mean what do you read about?" "All in a line, back and forth." said Hamlet. "I go from left to right with my mind full, and then must drop it there and head back empty-headed to the left side again, and take up another load to carry forward. It's a most tedious job, and when I'm done, there are all the letters where I found them, unchanged despite my having carried them all into my head.”

“That part of our conscious experience representable by physical symbols ought not to claim to be the whole. As a conscious being you are not one of my symbols; your domain is not circumscribed by my spatial measurements. If, like Hamlet, you count yourself king of an infinite space, I do not challenge your sovereignty. I only invite attention to certain disquieting rumours which have arisen as to the state of Your Majesty's nutshell.”

“The Great Dane by Stewart Stafford Martyr father of poison sleep, Rotten carcass of a slain beast, Wicked stars cast against him, Beloved, that loved him least. O maggot of gnawing doubt, Wriggling along life’s tightrope, Sleepwalking this broken path, To a coup de grâce last stroke. The players unmask dark play, Trampling nightshade that reeks, Honour's duel in a snake pit, The shadow castle grows weak. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“¡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!”

“Shakespeare’s woes and concerns are all human and can be easily perceived by any reader regardless of religious, ethnic, or educational backgrounds. To him, human vices are not only odious but pathetic as well. Hypocrisy irks him tremendously, and he is sharply aware of its stings when he says: “God has given you one face, and you make yourself another” (Hamlet 3.1.).”

“¡Negro el designo, pronta la mano, dispuesto el veneno, propicia la hora, cómplice la ocasión, y sin testigos! ¡Violenta mixtura de venenosas plantas, arrancadas a medianoche, tres veces infecta, tres veces emponzoñada con la maldición de Hécate; que tus naturales virtudes mágicas y deletéreas le arranquen instantáneamente la vida en plena salud.”

“FIGARO. Such a fantastic chain of events! How did it all happen to me? Why those things and not others? Who pointed them in my direction? Having no choice but to travel a road I was not aware I was following, and which I will get off without wanting to, I have strewn it with as many flowers as my good humour has permitted. But when I say my good humour, how can I know if it is any more mine than all the other bits of me, nor what this ‘me’ is that I keep trying to understand: first, an unformed bundle of indefinable parts, then a puny, weak-brained runt, a dainty frisking animal, a young man with a taste for pleasure and appetites to match, turning his hand to all trades to survive—sometimes master, sometimes servant as chance dictated, ambitious from pride, hard-working from necessity, but always happy to be idle! An orator when it was safe to speak out, a poet in my leisure hours, a musician as the situation required, in love in crazy fits and bursts. I’ve seen it all, done it all, had it all. Then the bubble burst and I was too disillusioned… Disillusioned!”

“I will receive it sir with all diligence of spirit. Put your bonnet to his right use, 'tis for the head. OSRIC I thank you lordship, it is very hot. HAMLET No believe me, 'tis very cold, the wind is northerly. OSRIC It is indifferent cold my lord, indeed. HAMLET But yet methinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion. OSRIC Exceedingly my lord, it is very sultry, as 'twere - I cannot tell how. But my lord, his majesty bade me signify to you that a has laid a great wager on your head. Sir, this is the matter - HAMLET I beseech you remember. (Hamlet moves him to put on his hat)”

“But that I know love is begun by time, And that I see, in passages of proof, Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it, And nothing is at a like goodness still; For goodness, growing to a pleurisy, Dies in his own too-much. That we would do We should do when we would. For this 'would' changes, And hath abatements and delays as many As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents. And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing.”

“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 we say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep - To sleep - perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub.”