Chapter 30
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O G.o.d! O G.o.d!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world!
That it should come to this!
Hyperion to a satyr! so loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly.
Why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appet.i.te had grown By what it fed on.
Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month.
Like Niobe, all tears.
My father's brother; but no more like my father Than I to Hercules.
Act i. Sc. 2.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Act i. Sc. 2.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Act i. Sc. 2.
He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
Act i. Sc. 2.
A countenance more In sorrow than in anger.
Act i. Sc. 3.
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth.
Act i. Sc. 3.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be.
Act i. Sc. 3.
Springes to catch woodc.o.c.ks.
Act i. Sc. 4.
But to my mind--though I am native here, And to the manner born--it is a custom More honored in the breach than the observance.
Act i. Sc. 4.
Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!
Act i. Sc. 4.
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee.
Act i. Sc. 4.
Let me not burst in ignorance!
Act i. Sc. 4.
I do not set my life at a pin's fee.
Act i. Sc. 4.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.