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Leave Her To Heaven And To Those Thorns That In Her Bosom Lodge, To Prick And Sting Her.
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Leave her to heaven
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet
-- Act i, Sc. 5
Related:
Those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), King Henry VIII -- Act v, Sc. 5...
I will speak daggers to her, but use none. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act iii, Sc.
2...
Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring!
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act v, Sc. 1...
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act i, Sc. 2...
One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she 's dead.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act v, Sc. 1...
Nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act iv, Sc. 7...
What 's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act ii, Sc. 2...
O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there! -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act i, Sc.
5...
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed That roots itself -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act i, Sc.
5...