Hamlet Quotes

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

This above all: to thine own self be true.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.

Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Give me my Romeo, and, when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night.

We are oft to blame in this, — ’tis too much proved, — that with devotion’s visage and pious action we do sugar o’er the devil himself.

To sleep, perchance to dream.

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil.

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god!

What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her?

O, woe is me t’ have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

I must be cruel, only to be kind.

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance.

Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.

The rest is silence.

I have of late — but wherefore I know not — lost all my mirth.

I am but mad north-north-west.

What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more.

Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.

The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.

This is the very ecstasy of love.

When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.

Though I am native here, and to the manner born, it is a custom more honored in the breach than the observance.

Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.

Sweets to the sweet.

I am dead Horatio.

I must be cruel only to be kind.

When you do dance, I wish you a wave o’ the sea.

O, from this time forth, my thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

I shall in all my best obey you, madam.

I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.

To sleep, perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub.

Nothing can come of nothing.

The readiness is all.

The rest is silence.

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.