“The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step On which I must fall down, or else o’erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires. The eye wink at the hand; yet it let that be Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.” (1.4.48-53)
“My thought, whose murder yet is fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smother’d in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.” (1.3.139-142
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings.My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,Shakes so my single state of man That function is smothered in surmise And nothing is but what is not. (1.3.147-155)
Come, thick night,And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark To cry, "Hold, hold!" (1.5.57-61)
"Doubtful it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together And choke their art." I. ii. 7-9.