Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side
Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn the power of man.
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.
When our actions do not, our fears make us traitors.
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.
Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
Or art thou but / A dagger of the mind, a false creation, / Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand.
The instruments of darkness tell us truths.
All's well that ends well.
Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.
Out, damned spot! out, I say! One: two: why, then 'tis time to do't. Hell is murky!
Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.
By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.
Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
Out, damned spot! Out, I say!
My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.
A little water clears us of this deed.
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.
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, / I must not look to have; but, in their stead, / Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, / Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not" (5.3.25-28).
Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!
I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence
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