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How might we interpret and respond to the intratextual connections between Hamlet's "To be or not to be" soliloquy and additional passages in the play?

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How might we interpret and respond to the intratextual connections between Hamlet's "To be or not to be" soliloquy and additional passages in the play?

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What does Hamlet's soliloquy (lines 65-68 and 78-90) reveal about his view of life and living?

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What does Hamlet's soliloquy (lines 65-68 and 78-90) reveal about his view of life and living?

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Hamlet Act III, Scene 1, _To be or not to be_

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Does Hamlet provide a key to understanding his inaction in lines 91-96 ("Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,...") or do these lines reflect only his views when thinking about life or death?

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Does Hamlet provide a key to understanding his inaction in lines 91-96 ("Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,...") or do these lines reflect only his views when thinking about life or death?

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Hamlet Act III, Scene 1, _To be or not to be_

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How might we interpret Hamlet's interactions with Ophelia?

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How might we interpret Hamlet's interactions with Ophelia?

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David Tennant as Hamlet - "Get thee to a nunnery" speech (from Act 3 Scene 1)

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What do Ophelia's lines in 163-175 ("O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! ...") reveal about Ophelia and about Hamlet?  Is the resulting view of these characters consistent with previous views of them?

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What do Ophelia's lines in 163-175 ("O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! ...") reveal about Ophelia and about Hamlet?  Is the resulting view of these characters consistent with previous views of them?

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Hamlet Act III, Scene 1, Ophelia's Response to Hamlet

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What intertextual connections exist between Hamlet's "To be or not to be" soliloquy and Keats's "Ode to a Nightingale"?

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What intertextual connections exist between Hamlet's "To be or not to be" soliloquy and Keats's "Ode to a Nightingale"?

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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thine happiness,-

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been

Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country green,

Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South,

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs,

Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;

But here there is no light,

Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet

Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;

And mid-May's eldest child,

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-

To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that oft-times hath

Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:-Do I wake or sleep?

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Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats | Poetry Foundation

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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains