Hamlet

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness: this was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof.

Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.

Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you;—though, I know, to divide him inventorially would dizzy the arithmetic of memory, and yet but yaw neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, in the verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great article, and his infusion of such dearth and rareness as, to make true diction of him, his semblable is his mirror, and who else would trace him, his umbrage, nothing more.

Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may b

ay that young Hamlet was born; he that is mad, and sent into England

Leaps into the grave

forty thousand brothers

This grave shall have a living monument:

Could not, with all their quantity of love,
Make up my sum.