Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and a rich.

what cannot be saved when fate takes, patience her injury a mockery makes

I have almost forgotten the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool’d to hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir as life were in’t: I have supt full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me.

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

Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.

For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

And yet,to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.