Imagery Quotes in Hamlet

Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, / That I, the son of a dear father murder’d, / Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, / Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words / And fall a-cursing like a very drab, / A scullion!

I have heard / That guilty creatures sitting at a play, / Have by the very cunning of the scene, / Been struck so to the soul that presently / They have proclaim’d their malefactions.

I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

Is it not monstrous that this player here, / But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, / Could force his soul so to his own conceit / That from her working all his visage wan’d; / Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect, / A broken voice, and his whole function suiting / With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! / For Hecuba?

O ’tis too true! / How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience! / The harlot’s cheek, beautied with plastering art, / Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it / Than is my deed to my most painted word.

O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown! / The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword, / Th’expectancy and rose of the fair state, / The glass of fashion and the mould of form, / Th’observ’d of all observers, quite, quite down!

Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent: / When he is drunk asleep; or in his rage, / Or in th’incestuous pleasure of his bed, / At gaming, swearing; or about some act / That has no relish of salvation in’t, / Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, / And that his soul may be as damn’d and black / As hell, whereto it goes.

Here is your husband, like a mildew’d ear / Blasting his wholesome brother.

Such an act / That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, / Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose / From the fair forehead of an innocent love, / And sets a blister there.

These words like daggers enter in mine ears;