To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin That makes calamity of so long life;
From this time forth My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered!
Be patient, Ophelia. Love, Hamlet
I do not set my life at a pin's fee, And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself?
What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven?
Pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
But soft you, the fair Ophelia: Ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws, But get thee to a nunnery - go!
A man can smile and smile and be a villain.
The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.