Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.
To beguile the time, look like the time.
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.
Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.
But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat.
To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.
And nothing is, but what is not.
That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quenched them hath given me fire.
Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil
That but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
We'ld jump the life to come.
Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
Your face is a book, where men may read strange matters.
My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.
I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
Out, damned spot! out, I say!
Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done.
I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none
Present fears are less than horrible imaginings.
Or art thou but / A dagger of the mind, a false creation, / Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
Out, damned spot! out, I say! One: two: why, then 'tis time to do't. Hell is murky!
If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me.
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side
Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.
Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.
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