Macbeth Quotes

“Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May 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.”

“I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself And falls on the other.”

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

“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 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.”

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

“Life ... is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.”

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

“What’s done cannot be undone.”

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

“False face must hide what the false heart doth know.”

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

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

“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.”

“O, full of scorpions is my mind!”

“Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.”

“It provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.”

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

“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.”

“So fair and foul a day I have not seen.”

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

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