Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.
Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.
If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me.
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
A little water clears us of this deed.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.
All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor.
I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
The instruments of darkness tell us truths.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
Out, damned spot! Out, I say!
Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth
We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail.
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.
By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.
Nothing in his life became him like leaving it.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
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