It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.
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.
Out, damned spot! Out, I say!
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.
All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!
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.
If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me.
I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none
A little water clears us of this deed.
By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.
Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.
I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
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.
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
or simply:
