And nothing is, but what is not.

A little water clears us of this deed.

To beguile the time, look like the time.

Present fears are less than horrible imaginings.

False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me.

I have bought golden opinions from all sorts of people.

Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.

I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none

The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand.

Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side

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!

We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

I'd make a wonderful Lady Macbeth. I'll wear a pair of platform shoes or something.

Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.

Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?

To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.

That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quenched them hath given me fire.

I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat.

I sometimes have these spells of compulsive truth. But as Lady Macbeth would say, "The fit is momentary."

I always assumed I would leave drama school and do 'Lady Macbeth' and all sorts of serious things. It just didn't happen.

To mankind in general Macbeth and Lady Macbeth stand out as the supreme type of all that a host and hostess should not be.

I'm either the witch or Lady Macbeth of English politics, but someone gotta wear the pants in England when others wearing kilts

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.

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