Emotions and Feelings

The bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell.

It was the owl that shriek’d, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern’st good-night.

Now o’er the one half-world Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain’d sleep; witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate’s offerings.

Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear The very stones prate of my whereabout.

Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear The very stones prate of my whereabout.

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?

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?

Merciful powers! Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose.

Macbeth: If we should fail— Lady Macbeth: We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we’ll not fail.

I have given suck, and know How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.

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

I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people.

The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts! unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top full Of direst cruelty; make thick my blood, Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers.

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promis’d. Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o’ the milk of human kindness 49 To catch the nearest way.

Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he ow’d, As ’twere a careless trifle.

I am Thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings.

I am Thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings.

Or have we eaten on the insane root That takes the reason prisoner?

And to be king Stands not within the prospect of belief.

The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace! The charm’s wound up.

Dwindle, peak, and pine.

Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid.

I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.

You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time’s flies.