Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead

Guildenstern: — England! I don't believe it!
Rosencrantz: — Just a conspiracy of cartographers you mean.

There must have been a moment at the beginning, where we could have said no. But somehow we missed it.

— Actor! What do you know about death? The mechanics of cheap melodrama! Cheap melodrama. It doesn't bring death home to anyone! It's not at home to anyone! Shut up! Shut up! You can't do death!
— On the contrary, it's what we do best. We have to exploit whatever talent is given to us and our talent is for dying. We can die heroically, comically, ironically, sadly, suddenly, slowly... disgustingly charmingly or from a great height.

Well, we can do you blood and love without the rhetoric without the love... and we can do you all three concurrent or consecutive. But we can't do you love and rhetoric without the blood. Blood is compulsory. They're all blood, you see.

— Hamlet is not himself outside or in. We have to glean what afflicts him. He's melancholy. Melancholy? Mad.
— How is he mad?
— How's he mad? More morose than mad perhaps. Melancholy. Moody. He had moods. Of moroseness? Madness and yet. Quite. For instance. He talks to himself which might be madness. If he didn't talk sense, which he does. Which suggests the opposite. Of what?
— I think I have it. A man talking sense to himself... is no madder than a man talking nonsense not to himself. Or just as mad. Or just as mad. And he does both. So there you are. Start raving sane.

Half of what he said meant something else, and the other half didn't mean anything at all.

— Who was that?
— The king's brother and uncle to the prince.
— Not exactly fraternal.
— Not exactly avuncular as time goes on.

One, probability is a factor which operates within natural forces. Two, probability is not operating as a factor. Three, we are now held within um... sub or supernatural forces. Discuss!

Do you think death could possibly be a boat?

— The old man thinks he's in love with his daughter.
— My God... We're out of our depth here!
— No, no, no, he hasn't got a daughter, the old man thinks he's in love with his daughter.
— The old man is?
— Hamlet. In love. Man's daughter. The old man thinks.