Still it cried ‘Sleep no more!’ to all the house: ‘Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more,—Macbeth shall sleep no more!

Thus can the demigod Authority Make us pay down for our offense by weight The words of heaven; on whom it will, it will, On whom it will not, so: yet still 'tis just.

There is a devilish mercy in the judge, if you'll implore it, that will free your life, but fetter you till death.

Conscience is a blushing, shamefaced spirit than mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles.

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisoned flattery?

On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily.

Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.