(no subject)

[proximoception]

I have discovered the ultimate procrastination activity: write down all the dialogue you remember from Hamlet.



You come most carefully upon your hour
For this relief much thanks 'tis bitter cold
And I am sick at heart
'Tis here
'Tis here
'Tis gone
There's something rotten in the state of Denmark
That beetles o'er his base above the sea
A little more than kin and less than kind
Nay madame I am too much in the sun
Seems nay madame I know not seems
For these are things that a man might play
But I have that within that passeth show
These but the trappings and the suits of woe
O that this too too sullied flesh would melt
Melt and resolve itself into a dew
Or that the Almighty had not set his canon 'gainst self-slaughter
How now Horatio what make you here at Elsinore
We will teach you to drink deep ere you depart
My lord I came to see your father's funeral
I think you mean to see my mother's wedding
Indeed my lord it followed hard upon it
Thrift Horatio thrift
The funeral meats did furnish forth the marriage feast
My lord I saw your father
These hands are not more like
He was a man that taken all in all
I shall not look upon his like again
It is a custom
More honored in the breach than in the observance
That makes us taxed of other nations
Murder most foul as in the best it is
But this most foul vile and unnatural
Adieu adieu remember me
Leave her to heaven
I'll set down in the tables of my heart
That one may smile and smile and be a villain
It is an honest ghost Horatio
There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy
Then therefore as a stranger give it welcome
Neither a borrower nor a lender be
For lender oft doth lose both purse and friend
This above all to thine own self be true
And it will follow as the night the day
Thou can'st not then be false to any man
Methinks it is no other but the main
My husband's death and our o'er-hasty marriage
More matter and less art
My lord I have a daughter
The beautified Ophelia
That's a vile phrase
Beautified is a vile phrase
Doubt that the stars doth move
Doubt truth to be a liar
But never doubt I love
To be or not to be that is the question
Whether tis nobler in the mid to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them to die to sleep
No more and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished to die to sleep
To sleep perchance to dream ay there's the rub
For in that sleep of death what dream may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil
Must give us pause there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time
The oppressor's wrong the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love the law's delay
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin who would fardels bear
And grunt and sweat under a weary life
But that the dread of something after death
The undiscovered country from whose bourne
No traveler returns puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those wrongs we have
Than fly to others that we know not of
Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all
And thus 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 soft you now
The fair Ophelia nymph in thine orisons be all my sins remembered
I loved you once
Indeed you made me think it
Nay I loved you not
I was the more deceived
Get thee to a nunnery
To a nunnery go
Love his affections do not that way tend
Though this be madness yet there's method in it
Faith her privates we
In the secret parts of fortune
Ay she was ever a strumpet
My lord we were sent for
I will tell you why
I am but mad north by northwest
When the wind is southerly I can tell a hawk from a handsaw
Denmark is a prison
Then is the world one my lord
Ay 'tis and one in which there are many wards and dungeons
Denmark being one of the worst
'Tis your ambition makes it so
I could be happy were I bounded by a nutshell
Were it not that I have bad dreams
O what a piece of work is man
How noble in reason
In apprehension how like a god
The paragon of nature
But to me what is this quintessence of dust
Nay man delights not me nor woman neither
Though by your smiling you seem to say so
To think my lord what lenten entertainment
You shall receive from the players
Methinks it is a whale
Indeed my lord 'tis very like a whale
The king is a thing
A thing my lord
Of nothing
I was killed in the Capitol
Brutus killed me
That's a vile phrase
Mobled is a vile phrase
Thus all occasions do inform against me
What's Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba
The play's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of a king
Hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature
You are keen my lord you are keen
Thought you I meant country matters
So our desires still are overthrown
Our thoughts are ours theirs ends none of our own
Methinks the lady doth protest too much
If she should break it now
Bring light
For thou art one who suffering all suffers nothing
O my crimes are great they stink to heaven
Words without thoughts never to heaven go
O Hamlet you have cleft my heart in twain
Then throw away the worser part of it
And live the wiser with the other half
That was in life a wretched prating knave
If in the other place then seek him there yourself
You will nose him as you head into the lobby
My mother
Your loving father Hamlet
I see a cherub that sees them
So had it been with us had we been there
From this time forth
My thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth
Say you nay pray you
And his sandals shoon
On his head a cockle hat
At his feet a stone
So Rosencrantz and Guildenstern go to it
Why man they did make love to this commission
They come not on my conscience
How absolute the knave is
Alas poor Yorick I knew him Horatio
'A was a fellow of infinite jest and excellent fancy
Quite chap-fallen
Go you to my lady's chamber
Tell her no matter how thick she paint
To this favor she shall come
That mighty Caesar dead and turned to clay
Should stop a hole to keep the wind away
Cat will mew and dog will have his day
Slit his throat in a church
You will lose my lord
I do not think it
I have been in continual practice
That know'st not how ill all's here about my heart
Since no man of aught he leaves knows
What is't to leave betimes
Let be
That I have shot my arrow o'er the house
And hit my brother
What say you
A touch a touch I do confess it
A very palpable hit
The queen drinks to Hamlet
O Hamlet I am slain
Wretched queen adieu
The king the king's to blame
Never believe it
But let it be
The rest is silence
Here cracks a noble heart good night sweet prince
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest
So many princes at a throw
And Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead
For he was one who had he been put on
Had proved most royal
Go bid the soldiers shoot

Comments

[wolodymyr.livejournal.com]

YES

[proximoception.livejournal.com]

Do it.