HAMLET: Instead of killing my uncle while he’s ingratiating himself to heaven, I’ll wait for a better moment—like when he’s sleeping off some drunkenness, or in his rage, or enjoying the foul pleasure of my mother’s bed, or swearing and gambling . . . That’s when I’ll trip him up.
So that his heels may kick at heaven while his damned, black soul falls to hell.
My mother’s waiting...
My uncle tries to cure himself with prayer, but all he’s doing is prolonging his sickly days.
CLAUDIUS: My words fly up to heaven, but my thoughts remain here on earth.
Words without sincere thoughts will never get to heaven.