Would Hamlet have felt the delicious fascination of suicide if he hadn't had an audience, and lines to speak?

What we need is hatred. From it our ideas are born.

Excluded by my birth and tastes from the social order, I was not aware of its diversity. Nothing in the world was irrelevant: the stars on a general's sleeve, the stock-market quotations, the olive harvest, the style of the judiciary, the wheat exchange, flower-beds. Nothing. This order, fearful and feared, whose details were all inter-related, had a meaning: my exile.

Men endowed with a wild imagination should have, in addition, the great poetic faculty of denying our universe and its values so that they may act upon it with sovereign ease.

Would Hamlet have felt the delicious fascination of suicide if he hadn't had an audience, and lines to speak?

Anyone who knows a strange fact shares in its singularity.

One can hear all that's going on in the street. Which means that from the street one can hear what's going on in this house.