Imagery Quotes in Hamlet

This is th'imposthume of much wealth and peace, / That inward breaks, and shows no cause without / Why the man dies.

And, like the kind life-rendering pelican, / Repast them with my blood.

O rose of May! / Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! / O heavens, is’t possible a young maid’s wits / Should be as mortal as an old man’s life?

The ocean, overpeering of his list, / Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste / Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, / O’erbears your offices.

He is dead and gone, lady, / He is dead and gone, / At his head a grass green turf, / At his heels a stone.

And so have I a noble father lost, / A sister driven into desperate terms, / Whose worth, if praises may go back again, / Stood challenger on mount of all the age / For her perfections. But my revenge will come.

The Queen his mother / Lives almost by his looks; and for myself,— / My virtue or my plague, be it either which,— / She’s so conjunctive to my life and soul, / That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, / I could not but by her.

It warms the very sickness in my heart / That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, / ‘Thus diest thou.’

I bought an unction of a mountebank / So mortal that, but dip a knife in it, / Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, / Collected from all simples that have virtue / Under the moon, can save the thing from death / This is but scratch’d withal.

Did these bones cost no more the breeding but to play at loggets with 'em? Mine ache to think on't.