She is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on.

There is no virtue like necessity.
John of Gaunt, 1st Duke of Lancaster 
Richard II (I. 3. 278)
You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames
Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,
You fen-sucked fogs drawn by the powerful sun,
To fall and blister.
Lear
King Lear (II. 4. 160 - 163)
Then, England’s ground, farewell! Sweet soil, adieu,
My mother and my nurse that bears me yet!
Where’er I wander, boast of this I can:
Though banished, yet a trueborn Englishman!
Henry Bolingbroke
Richard II (I. 3. 306 - 309)
O, the difference of man and man!
To thee a woman’s services are due;
A fool usurps my bed.
Goneril, Duchess of Albany
King Lear (IV. 2. 26 - 28)
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs
End in a word – such is the breath of kings.
Henry Bolingbroke
Richard II (I. 3. 214 - 215)

newlyorange:

prissybabyhamlet:

cuddlytogas:

shuttuploki:

cuddlytogas:

has anyone done a hamlet where hamlet wrests the cup from horatio and finishes off the last of the poisoned drink, and then horatio proceeds to lunge after him and try to kiss the poison from his mouth

oh god I was almost crying and then I thought

what if hamlet then stops horatio from kissing him because he’s scared that there would be a chance horatio could poison himself that way

so he like pushes horatio away and horatio just looks really hurt and hamlet feels awful about it but he won’t let horatio die

now I am crying

HAMLET JUST SHOVES HIS HAND OVER HIS MOUTH

HORATIO SOBS AND, DISTRAUGHT, KISSES HAMLET’S PALM BETWEEN THEM

and this time he isn’t chasing the poison at all, this time it’s all about final shows of affection because in 20 lines hamlet’s going to be dEAd

I HATE YOU

For the handful of you who haven’t seen this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486346

O, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus,
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast,
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer’s heat?
O no, the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
Fell sorrow’s tooth doth never rankle more
Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.
Henry Bolingbroke
Richard II (I. 3. 294 - 303)
Richard II (1. 3. 260 - 261)
  • John of Gaunt:

    What is six winters? They are quickly gone.

  • Bolingbroke:

    To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.

No, Bolingbroke, if ever I were traitor
My name be blotted from the book of life,
And I from heaven banished as from hence!
But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know,
And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.
Thomas de Mowbray, 1st Duke of Norfolk
Richard II (I. 3. 201 - 205)