his brandished steel which smoked with bloody execution
stars hide your fires let not light see my dark and deep desires
i have no spur to prick the sides of my intent, only vaulting ambition which overleaps itself and falls onto one another
my hands are of your colour but i shame to wear a heart so white
i am in blood so far that should i wade no further, returning were as tedious as going over
she should have died hereafer
and live a coward in thine own self esteem
come to my women's breast, and take my milk for gall
you murderingministers
"Out damned spot!"
come you spirits which tend on mortal thoughts-unsex me here and fill me top-toefull of direst cruelty
give me thedaggers
is this a dagger i see before me
brave Macbeth, well he deserves that name
unseamed him from the nave to the chaps
fair is foul and foul is fair
look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under it
the instruments of darkness tell us truth
i fear you played most foully for it
when you durst do it then you were a man; and, from that honour not departed from it
we will proceed no further in this business
partner of greatness
What! Can the devil speak true?
I have almost forgot the taste of fears
Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?
a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing
Yet do I fear thy nature; it is too full o’ the milk of human kindness
All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand
Stop up the’ access and passage to remorse
Come, thick night, and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell
I would, while it was smiling in my face, have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums and dashed the brains out, had I so sworn as you have done to this
Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him
What’s done cannot be undone
I will plant thee and labour thee full of growing
the dead butcher and his fiend-like queen
a little water clears us of this deed
bleedbleed poor country
our country sinks beneath the yoke, it weeps it bleeds and each day a new gash is added to her wounds
What are these, So wither’d and so wild in their attire, That look not like the inhabitants o’ the earth, And yet are on ‘t?