Careful Words

something (n.)

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep:

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heartache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to,—'t is a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub:

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause: there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscover'd country from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act iii. Sc. 1.

"A jolly place," said he, "in times of old!

But something ails it now: the spot is cursed."

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Hart-leap Well. Part ii.

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force,

Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): Locksley Hall. Line 49.

Something between a hindrance and a help.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Michael.

Though I am not splenitive and rash,

Yet have I something in me dangerous.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act v. Sc. 1.

None are so desolate but something dear,

Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd

A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 24.

The worst speak something good; if all want sense,

God takes a text, and preacheth Pa-ti-ence.

George Herbert (1593-1632): The Church Porch.

Out of my lean and low ability

I 'll lend you something.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

There's something in a flying horse,

There's something in a huge balloon.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Peter Bell. Prologue. Stanza 1.

There's something in a flying horse,

There's something in a huge balloon.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Peter Bell. Prologue. Stanza 1.

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 4.

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,

Is the immediate jewel of their souls:

Who steals my purse steals trash; 't is something, nothing;

'T was mine, 't is his, and has been slave to thousands;

But he that filches from me my good name

Robs me of that which not enriches him

And makes me poor indeed.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Othello. Act iii. Sc. 3.

  Fame sometimes hath created something of nothing.

Thomas Fuller (1608-1661): Holy and Profane State. Fame.

Full fathom five thy father lies;

Of his bones are coral made;

Those are pearls that were his eyes:

Nothing of him that doth fade

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.

Something the heart must have to cherish,

Must love and joy and sorrow learn;

Something with passion clasp, or perish

And in itself to ashes burn.

Henry W Longfellow (1807-1882): Hyperion. Book ii.

God gives us love. Something to love

He lends us; but when love is grown

To ripeness, that on which it throve

Falls off, and love is left alone.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): To J. S.

They are not a pipe for fortune's finger

To sound what stop she please. Give me that man

That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him

In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,

As I do thee.—Something too much of this.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act iii. Sc. 2.

By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes.

Open, locks,

Whoever knocks!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act iv. Sc. 1.