(between 1599 and 1602)
Reputedly Shakespeare's most unpolished play, but for me the most beautifully written of all his works.
(I,iii) Hamlet:
This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.
(II,ii) Hamlet:
Why, then, ’tis none to you, for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.
(III,iii) King Claudius:
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.