Quotes About Hamlet

Hamlet knows a hawk from a handsaw, I know blasphemy from a lie and plagiarism from a bad decision.

This henbane was used, in this very manner, we are told, in Shakespeare's works, by Hamlet's uncle, when he poisoned Hamlet's father.

Visually speaking, nothing calls Shakespeare to mind like Hamlet holding Yorick's skull.

I was doing Hamlet in the off-season, and I had a specific idea in my mind about what I wanted that character to look like, and because it's going to lead into the next year, I knew that it was going to have to be established somewhere in the show.

Hamlet's a dull fuck of a story where a fellow stands around lamenting how useless he is even to his own self, and then there's one pansy swordfight and it's over. The only good part of that is what he nicked from Kit's Dido.

She had spears of straw and grass in her hair, not like Ophelia gone mad through contact with Hamlet's madness, but because she had slept in some stable loft.

Hamlet is every man's self-love with all its dreams realized. He wears all the crowns and carries every cross.

I've seen 'Hamlet' many times, and Hamlet, he was just a hideous neurotic; he never changes. He doubts - all the way to the end, all the way until when he dies, he doubts.

I have a smack of Hamlet myself , if I do say so .

Hamlet's mother says to Hamlet, "Why seems it so particular with thee?" What is the difference between belief and make-belief? What makes us give to any one belief (since it is only a matter of shifting, tuning the mind) the peculiar weight of actuality? "For there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.

Los imitadores olvidan el ser o no ser del trágico eminente, y al hacerlo caen en ese abismo sin fondo de que nos habla el creador de Hamlet: ¡Palabras, palabras, palabras!

The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring. Paintings of Moreau are paintings of ideas. The deepest poetry of Shelley, the words of Hamlet bring our mind into contact with the eternal wisdom; Plato's world of ideas. All the rest is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys.

It is quite simple. He proves by algebra that Hamlet's grandson is Shakespeare's grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own father.

He proves by algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather.

And I just think that to introduce an unknown Shakespeare is thrilling, too - not to do Hamlet or Romeo and Juliet, to do the richer Shakespeare. People will come to this and not know the story.

One learned gentleman, "a sage grave man," Talk'd of the Ghost in Hamlet, "sheath'd in steel"— His well-read friend, who next to speak began, Said, "That was poetry, and nothing real;" A third, of more extensive learning, ran To Sir George Villiers' Ghost, and Mrs. Veal; Of sheeted Spectres spoke with shorten'd breath, And thrice he quoted Drelincourt on Death.

Darkness turned on her pillow white; A star serenely shone; Deeply, deeply into the night Cut the sword of dawn. Over the snow the pale east threw Abroach where daylight broke, Crimson stains on the abbey panes Above the hamlet smoke...

Bealeton. Another sleepy hamlet was about to have its name written down in history in letters of blood.

A life without once reading Hamlet is like a life spent in a coal mine.

town. Denby. Population two hundred and fourteen.

Pearl Harbor? Michael Bay doing a movie about the single most devastating, most holy day in United States military history? Why, that's like the Three Stooges doing a Holocaust movie. Or Barney doing 'Hamlet'.

The review I've been most offended by came when I played Hamlet. I'd always prided myself on being an 'invisible actor' and not getting in the way of the play. But this review didn't mention me once. That's worse than being insulted.

It was one of those cases where you approve the broad, general principle of an idea but can't help being in a bit of a twitter at the prospect of putting it into practical effect. I explained this to Jeeves, and he said much the same thing had bothered Hamlet.

In his twenties, John Bridgens most identified with Hamlet. The strangely aging Prince of Denmark—Bridgens was quite sure that the boy Hamlet had magically aged over a few theatrical weeks to a man who was, at the very least, in his thirties by Act V—had been suspended between thought and deed, between motive and action, frozen by a consciousness so astute and unrelenting that it made him think about everything, even thought itself.