I'll say she looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew.

The Devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape.

If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.

Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!

The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.

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

So many horrid Ghosts.