PRIEST: Yet instead she’s given these virgin garlands, and her grave is strewn with flowers, and we bury her to the sound of tolling bells.
LAERTES: Must there be nothing else?
PRIEST: No, nothing. We would profane the other dead souls here if we sang the same requiem for her.
LAERTES: Lay her in the ground, and let violets bloom from her fair and unpolluted flesh!
I swear to you, bitter priest, my sister will be an angel while you lie howling in hell.
HAMLET: What, the beautiful Ophelia?
GERTRUDE: Sweets to the sweet. Farewell!
I once hoped you’d be my Hamlet’s wife. I thought I’d be throwing flowers on your wedding bed, sweet girl, and not on your grave.
LAERTES: Oh, three times the damnation fall ten times on that cursed man, whose wicked deeds robbed you of your senses!