My words fly up, my thoughts remain below
O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all.
More matter with less art.
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, (135) Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two: (140) So excellent a king; that was, to this.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
The Play's the Thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.
Murder most foul, as in the best it it; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
To take arms against a sea of troubles.
This above all; to thine own self be true.
Shakespeare said: "There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow." Everything happens perfectly.
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