“Sirrah, your Father's dead: And what will you do now? How will you live?Son: As birds do, mother.L. Macd: What with worms and flies?Son: With what I get, I mean; and so do they.”

“I will be brief: your noble son is mad:Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,What is't but to be nothing else but mad?”

“What means this shouting? I do fear, the peopleChoose Caesar for their king.”

“How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale?Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?”

“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.”

“My noble father,I do perceive here a divided duty.To you I am bound for life and education.My life and education both do learn meHow to respect you. You are the lord of my duty,I am hitherto your daughter. But here’s my husband,And so much duty as my mother showedTo you, preferring you before her father,So much I challenge that I may professDue to the Moor my lord.”

“Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hourWhilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,Nor think the bitterness of absence sour When you have bid your servant once adieu; Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But, like a sad slave, stay and think of noughtSave, where you are how happy you make those. So true a fool is love that in your will, Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.”