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Сторінка 43 - 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...
Сторінка 20 - What? Ghost. I am thy father's spirit ; Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, And for the day...
Сторінка 57 - In the corrupted currents of this world, Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself Buys out the law. But 'tis not so above : There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature ; and we ourselves compell'd, -Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence.
Сторінка 47 - ... twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now this overdone or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance o'erweigh a whole theatre of others.
Сторінка 58 - No, by the rood, not so : You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; And — would it were not so !— you are my mother. Queen. Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak. Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall not budge ; You go not till I set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost part of you.
Сторінка 11 - 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!
Сторінка 22 - Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest. But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge To prick and sting her.
Сторінка 42 - 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.
Сторінка 40 - I have heard That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions; For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ.
Сторінка 55 - Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn, and Hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world : now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter business as the day Would quake to look on.

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