anindoorkitty:CLAUDIUS:How is it that the clouds still hang...

anindoorkitty:

CLAUDIUS:

How is it that the clouds still hang on you? 

HAMLET:

 Oh, that this too, too sullied flesh would melt,Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,Or that the Everlasting had not fixed His canon ‘gainst self-slaughter! O God, God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on ’t, ah fie! ‘Tis an unweeded garden That grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this. But two months dead—nay, not so much, not two.So excellent a king, that was to this Hyperion to a satyr. So loving to my mother 

That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly.—Heaven and earth,Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on, and yet, within a month—Let me not think on ’t. Frailty, thy name is woman!—A little month, or ere those shoes were old With which she followed my poor father’s body,Like Niobe, all tears. Why she, even she—O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason Would have mourned longer!—married with my uncle,My father’s brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules. Within a month,Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her gallèd eyes,She married. O most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! It is not nor it cannot come to good,But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.