“Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick menWhen for so slight and frivolous a causeSuch factious emulations shall arise!”

“Shall we their fond pageant see?Lord, what fools these mortals be!”

“Lady, shall I lie in your lap? Ophelia: No, my lord. Hamlet: DId you think I meant country matters? Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord. Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs. Ophelia: What is, my lord? Hamlet: Nothing.”

“There's some ill planet reigns:I must be patient till the heavens lookWith an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,I am not prone to weeping, as our sexCommonly are; the want of which vain dewPerchance shall dry your pities: but I haveThat honourable grief lodged here which burnsWorse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords,With thoughts so qualified as your charitiesShall best instruct you, measure me; and soThe king's will be perform'd!”

“And whatsomever else shall hap tonight, give it an understanding but no tongue, I will requit your love. So, fare your well. My lord, he hath importuned me with love, in honourable fashion.”

“So will I turn her virtue into pitch,And out of her own goodness make the netThat shall enmesh them all. ”

“What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.”