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My Fate Cries Out, And Makes Each Petty Artery In This Body As Hardy As The Nemean Lion's Nerve.
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My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet
-- Act i, Sc. 4
Related:
A rhapsody of words. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act iii, Sc. 4
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act i, Sc.
4...
I do not set my life at a pin's fee; And, for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal?
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet, Act I Sc. 4...
Pluck out the heart of my mystery. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act iii, Sc. 2
But to my mind, though I am native here And to the manner born, it is a custom More honoured in the breach than the observance.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act i, Sc. 4...
O my prophetic soul! My uncle! -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act i, Sc. 5
In my mind's eye, Horatio. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act i, Sc. 2
Within the book and volume of my brain. -- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act i, Sc.
5...
Unhand me, gentlemen. By heaven, I 'll make a ghost of him that lets me!
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet -- Act i, Sc. 4...