Character: Hamlet. Page 1

He, like many of the same analysis, in which the empty century in love, only had the appearance of a conversation, kind of effervescent gas, departing in the middle of the stupidest judgments, and touch them to experience - and the bubbles disappeared.

Tell me what you prepared to do? Cry? To fight?
Post? To torment myself? Drink acute poison?
I will do the same. You howl come from?
You want me to have jumped into her grave?
You want to be buried? Me too.
You're talking about the heights of mountains? So let
We bulk a million hills.
To the head of the country fire touched
And the OSS before it was used a grain of sand!

Poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: it was a man of infinite humor and divney imagination. A thousand times he carried me on his shoulders, and now... How to push my imagination these remains! I'm almost sick. Here were the lips I kissed them so often. Where be your gibes now, your antics? Where songs, zip-liners, from which all feasting were laughing so hard? Who will sotret now over thy same bone smile? It's all gone.

Is nothing neither bad nor good; the idea makes it one or the other.

Speck of evil destroys the good.

Yes, he was a man in all the meaning of the word.
I can't find one like him.

About how you painted, I, too, had heard enough. God gave you one face and you paint yourself another. You podtantsovke you semanita legs, you babble, you are God's creatures given nicknames and their lust issued for the unseen.

We fatten the animals to fatten yourself for worms. A fat king and skinny beggar - only dishes, two dishes to one table. It all ends there. The case possible - to fish with a worm that ate of a king, and then eat the fish that ate the worm.

Even a deity like the sun breed maggots in a caressing rays of carrion.

Decayed Caesar from the cold close up the house outside. Before whom the whole world is lying in the dust, sticking with the plug in the slot.

No conscience, pretend you like it is.

Forgive thee.
I, too, followed. It's over, Horace.
I'm sorry, Queen! God be with you!
And you, the mute spectators of the finals,
Oh, if only time, I had -
But the death - dumb escort and does not tolerate
The procrastination, I would have told you -
But, even so. It's over, Horace.
You're alive. Tell the truth about me
To the uninitiated.

From the funeral to the wedding cake table went Poliny.

I am but mad North-North-West. When the wind is southerly I still know a hawk from a handsaw.