He was a man, take him for all in all, / I shall not look upon his like again.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

As I perchance hereafter shall think meet / To put an antic disposition on—

Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, / Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.

Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, / And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, / Absent thee from felicity awhile, / And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, / To tell my story.

This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak’d meats / Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.

Give me that man / That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him / In my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart, / As I do thee.

I prithee, when thou see’st that act a-foot, / Even with the very comment of thy soul / Observe mine uncle. If his occulted guilt / Do not itself unkennel in one speech, / It is a damned ghost that we have seen;