I don’t have a lot of sympathy for Ophelia. I guess this is the line to confess that –
Because this is her second line.
It is also four one syllable words
And also a question
That evades and leads Laertes into more speech.
Ophelia herself is just a responding machine.
The men around her boss her around,
Pass her around to boss between themselves
Brother to father to Hamlet and so on to her grave.
No, no – I do have sympathy for Ophelia.
She’s got nothing of her own really –
No real language of her own
No life.
She just bounces back balls that are served to her.
But I don’t like her.
I want her to put something on the table –
Shock them all by pulling out a steak knife
And embedding it near someone’s finger. I want her to say something in this play.
But she doesn’t
And she won’t –
Not til she goes crazy
Which, you know, I do, I sympathize.
I feel bad for her but I can’t understand why Hamlet loves her.

I can’t help feeling that one of the actors
Printing the text
Just left off a sentence here
So that they could make the page.
I think this sentence is longer.
Do you doubt that the letters I have for you aren’t already written?
Do you doubt that I love my brother?
Do you doubt that the winds will give good sail and create quick and speedy correspondence for us?
This is Ophelia’s first line and I am struck by the “doubt” in it
As we are made to believe that Hamlet
Wrote to her regarding her doubts,
Imploring her to doubt all of these other things
But to never doubt his love.
It’s a rather flimsy little verse
From one the most articulate
Intelligent characters in the canon
But it’s a connection between doubt and love.
So is this line.