(about me...)
I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves all. Believe none of us.
(to those I value most...)
Blessed are those whose blood and judgement are so well commingled that they are not a pipe for fortune's finger to sound what stop she please. Give me the man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, ay, in my heart of hearts, as I do thee.
(in hope...)
In my heart there was a kind of fighting that would not let me sleep. I thought I lay worse than a rebel in the shackles. Rashly--and praised be rashness for it--let us know our indiscretion sometimes serves us well when our deep plots do pall; and that should teach us there's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will.
That is most certain.
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11 comments:
A little melancholy, sir. . . .
sorry.
Here is what you should do, AJax. Pull down your shed, and build bigger ones, and there you may store all your grain and goods. Then tell your soul, "Soul, you have many goods laid up in two totally awesome sheds. Eat, drink, and be merry while watching Padres baseball, because those are some really, really good looking sheds."
Or you could just continue thinking about building another one and be frustrated that your peeps don't understand you...or you could build the other shed and prove them right...or you could tear down the one shed and just write the most awesome music ever. That's what I think young one.
Man, that's weird. The last quote is one my favorites in the world. No doubt his masterpiece, that play. Seriously, I could cry out of love for his writing
"No doubt his masterpiece." That is correct although I know that what you actually mean is it's his best play, the greatest among a handful of masterpieces. Right, sic? Am I right? In a few days I'm going to post a selection of gems from Harold Bloom's criticism of HAMLET. You guys will enjoy that.
Who would enjoy that but a bunch of nerds? Oh, wait. . . .
ONLY TOO RIGHT, SIR! Although talking about Shakespeare's masterpieces is almost pointless because honestly, who can write like him? It's like there's Shakespeare then there's all other writers.
tru dat, holmes.
Marlowe
What what.
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