Macbeth Quotes

By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.

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 foolsThe 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 taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,Signifying nothing.

Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.

That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself And falls on th’ other.

Double, double, toil and trouble;Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

Life ... is a taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,Signifying nothing.

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

What's done cannot be undone.

...Who could refrain,That had a heart to love, and in that heartCourage to make love known?

Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and 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.

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

Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.

Where shall we three meet again in thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly 's done, when the battle 's lost and won

Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done.

Come what come may, time and the hour run through the roughest day.

Come, you spiritsThat tend on mortal thoughts! Unsex me here,And fill me from the crown to the toe top fullOf direst cruelty; make thick my blood,Stop up the access and passage to remorse,That no compunctious visitings of natureShake my fell purpose, nor keep peace betweenThe effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts,And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,Wherever in your sightless substancesYou wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night,And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,Nor Heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,To cry "Hold, hold!

All causes shall give way: I am in bloodStepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more,Returning were as tedious as go o’er.

O, full of scorpions is my mind!

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.

it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance

Out, out brief candle, life is but a walking shadow...a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Out, damned spot! out, I say!

My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.

So fair and foul a day I have not seen.

Macbeth: How does your patient, doctor?Doctor: Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with thick-coming fancies that keep her from rest.Macbeth: Cure her of that! Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon her heart.Doctor: Therein the patient must minister to himself.

The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.

I have no spurTo prick the sides of my intent, but onlyVaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itselfAnd falls on the other.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,Yet Grace must still look so.

What's done, is done

If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not ...

Blood will have blood.

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.

Your face, my thane, is as a book where menMay 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.

Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more!Macbeth does murder sleep, - the innocent sleep;Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast.

Stars hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires: The eyes wink at the hand; yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see

And nothing is, but what is not.

Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.

Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day.

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

Macbeth:If we should fail?Lady Macbeth:We fail?But screw your courage to the sticking place,And we'll not fail.

Out, damned spot! out, I say!—One, two; why, then ‘tis time to do’t.—Hell is murky!—Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?—Yet who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him? The thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now?—What, will these hands ne’er be clean?—No more o’that, my lord, no more o’that: you mar all with this starting. Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!

There is nothing serious in Mortality

Sometimes when we are labeled, when we are branded our brand becomes our calling.

What, you egg?

Something wicked this way comes

Be bloody bold and resolute.

I go and it is done. The bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell that summons thee to heaven or to hell.

Nothing in his life became him like leaving it.