Yorick

Yorick

Yorick

Yorick

Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath bore me on his back a thousand times, and now how abhorr’d in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss’d I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now, your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now to mock your own grinning-quite chop-fall’n.

  • Hamlet 5.1

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Pink Cake: The Quote Collection – Kramer Wetzel

Pink Cake

Pink Cake

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