Memesheepery: Quote some Shakespeare when you see this on your friendslist.

[rikibeth]

Spotted already on lordavon, ghilledhu, and the_red_shoes's journals. And probably some others.

It doesn't say if you have to do it from memory, or if you're allowed to look it up. I will admit to looking it up.

Ophelia. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.

Laertes. A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.

Ophelia. There's fennel for you, and columbines; there's rue for you; and here's some for me; we may call it herb of grace o' Sundays; O, you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy: I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died; they say he made a good end, --
[Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.

Laertes. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favor and to prettiness.

Ophelia [Sings] And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead;
Go to thy death-bed,
He never will come again.

His beard was white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll;
He is gone, he is gone,
And we cast away moan:
God ha' mercy on his soul!

And of all Christian souls, I pray God. -- God be wi' ye. [Exit.

Hamlet, Act IV, Scene V.

I love the mad scenes.

Comments

[sociofemme.livejournal.com]

Don't really want to make a new entry on my journal, so I'll just quote at you my favorite sonnet from when I was an emo teenager, convinced I was totally vile:

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes
For they in thee a thousand errors note
But tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who, in despite of view, is pleased to dote.
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted
Nor tender feeling to base touches prone,
Nor taste nor smell desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone.
By my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade this foolish heart from loving thee
Who leaves unsway’d the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart’s slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
~Sonnet 141

(quoted from memory except lines 14 & 15. I can't ever remember those two fuckers.)

I love the mean ones. :D

[rikibeth.livejournal.com]

Ohhh, that's a goody, and less well known than #130 (My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun).

But it doesn't have a recording of Alan Rickman reading it, more's the pity!

[sociofemme.livejournal.com]

I like 130 too, but I don't remember it half so well.

I would LOVE to have Rickman reading this one. Oh my god, spontaneous orgasm.

[trowa-barton.livejournal.com]

A Sweeny Todd fan, I take it?

[rikibeth.livejournal.com]

Have been known to sing "A Little Priest" in front of the meat-pie stalls at RenFaires.