(n.) The kind of question you ask yourself when you're alone - and usually in total over-thinking mode - that leads you to invariably wonder about life, the universe, and everything.
Me: "To be or not to be? That is the question. Where is my life going? What the hell am i doing...?"
Also me: "Shut up and stop getting caught up in that soliloquery shit...!"
Also me: "Shut up and stop getting caught up in that soliloquery shit...!"
by bill cauliflower April 11, 2020
Get the soliloquery mug."I was talking to some broad and she went on a 30 minute soliloqueef about being called a chick, her lips never stopped moving."
by ClassyAsFuuuuuck June 4, 2018
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by MADdler July 27, 2008
Get the Soliloqueer mug.basically, a monologue.
it's sorta like the character is talking to himself, or the character is talking to the audience but not looking for comment/answers to his statements
it's sorta like the character is talking to himself, or the character is talking to the audience but not looking for comment/answers to his statements
by got me lost for words October 15, 2008
Get the soliloquy mug.1. a. A dramatic or literary form of discourse in which a character talks to himself or herself or reveals his or her thoughts without addressing a listener.
b. A specific speech or piece of writing in this form of discourse.
2. The act of speaking to oneself.
Late Latin sôliloquium : Latin sôlus, alone + Latin loquî, to speak.
b. A specific speech or piece of writing in this form of discourse.
2. The act of speaking to oneself.
Late Latin sôliloquium : Latin sôlus, alone + Latin loquî, to speak.
Hamlet Act 2, Scene 2:
Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That from her working all his visage wann'd, Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing! For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? What would he do, Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have? He would drown the stage with tears And cleave the general ear with horrid speech, Make mad the guilty and appal the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing; no, not for a king, Upon whose property and most dear life A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat, As deep as to the lungs? who does me this? Ha! 'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall To make oppression bitter, or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! O, vengeance! Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, That I, the son of a dear father murder'd, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, And fall a-cursing, like a very drab, A scullion! Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! I have heard That guilty creatures sitting at a play Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions; For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players Play something like the murder of my father Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks; I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench, I know my course. The spirit that I have seen May be the devil: and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds More relative than this: the play 's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.
Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That from her working all his visage wann'd, Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing! For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? What would he do, Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have? He would drown the stage with tears And cleave the general ear with horrid speech, Make mad the guilty and appal the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing; no, not for a king, Upon whose property and most dear life A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat, As deep as to the lungs? who does me this? Ha! 'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall To make oppression bitter, or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! O, vengeance! Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, That I, the son of a dear father murder'd, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, And fall a-cursing, like a very drab, A scullion! Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! I have heard That guilty creatures sitting at a play Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions; For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players Play something like the murder of my father Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks; I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench, I know my course. The spirit that I have seen May be the devil: and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds More relative than this: the play 's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.
by Jonny March 30, 2005
Get the soliloquy mug.A stylized, silly monologue with an Orwellian slant. One hallmark trait is the use of questioning techniques to introduce background voices for ambiance.
by duskydesert August 5, 2006
Get the Cornwellian soliloquy mug.the product of too many beers, too much gin, or too much whiskey and therefore an unguarded tongue when one imparts wisdom that is (for the most part - usually) beyond the abilities of the speaker. it may be personal insights shared on a blog late at night after a bottle of Jameson, or a bar room proverb, or a late night impartation of wisdom to ones friends about life, or romance. it might even be a rare moment of vulnerability to a wall that one has just pissed on in which the speaker shares with that piss stained wall a nugget of insight about life.
"dude, this may be the booze talking, but that bitch is wrong for you." "what ever dude you are just drunk enough to think that your drunken soliloquy makes sense."
OR:
i could have done something with my life, but instead i chose to piss it away and opportunity has long since ceased to knock at my door.
OR:
poor yorik, i barely knew ye blah blah what dreams may come blah blah blah pass the bong.
OR:
i could have done something with my life, but instead i chose to piss it away and opportunity has long since ceased to knock at my door.
OR:
poor yorik, i barely knew ye blah blah what dreams may come blah blah blah pass the bong.
by iamfletch April 1, 2007
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