Emotions and Feelings

It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move and trees to speak.

It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move and trees to speak.

What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm’d rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble.

What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm’d rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble.

Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence!

The air-drawn dagger.

Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me.

Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me.

But now I am cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d, bound in To saucy doubts and fears.

But now I am cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d, bound in To saucy doubts and fears.

So weary with disasters, tugg’d with fortune, That I would set my life on any chance, To mend it or be rid on ’t.

So weary with disasters, tugg’d with fortune, That I would set my life on any chance, To mend it or be rid on ’t.

I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incens’d that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.

Murderer: We are men, my liege. Macbeth: Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men.

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

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord’s anointed temple, and stole thence The life o’ the building!

The labor we delight in physics pain.

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.

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.

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 labor’s bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course, Chief nourisher in life’s feast.

I had most need of blessing, and “Amen” Stuck in my throat.

I had most need of blessing, and “Amen” Stuck in my throat.

Had he not resembled My father as he slept I had done ’t.

The attempt and not the deed Confounds us.