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 owed,
As 't were a careless trifle.

There's no art

Macbeth. Act i. Sc. 4.

To find the mind's construction in the face.

Ibid.

More is thy due than more than all can pay.

Ibid.

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.

Yet do I fear thy nature;

What thou wouldst highly,

Sc. 5.

That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,
And yet wouldst wrongly win.

Ibia.

That no compunctious visitings of nature

Shake my fell purpose.

Ibid.

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.

Ibid.

Which shall to all our nights and days to come

Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

Ibid.

This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air

Sc. 6.

Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself

Unto our gentle senses.

The heaven's breath

Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze,
Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird

Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle :
Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed,
The air is delicate.

If it were done when 't is done, then 't were well
It were done quickly: if the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch

Ibid

With his surcease success; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
We 'ld jump the life to come.
But in these cases
We still have judgment here; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which being taught, return
To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice
To our own lips.
Macbeth. Act i. Sc. 7.

Besides, this Duncan

Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking-off;

And pity, like a naked new-born babe,

Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,

That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on the other.

Ibid.

I have bought

Golden opinions from all sorts of people.

Ibid.

Letting "I dare not " wait upon "I would,"

Like the poor cat i' the adage.1

Ibid.

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

Ibid.

But screw your courage to the sticking-place,

And we 'll not fail.

1 See Heywood, page 14.

Ibid.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand?

thee.

Come, let me clutch

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?

Ibid.

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going.

Ibid.

Now o'er the one half-world

Nature seems dead.

Ibid.

Thou sure and firm-set earth,

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout.

Ibid.

Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell

The bell invites me.

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.

Confounds us.

The attempt and not the deed

I had most need of blessing, and “Amen”
Stuck in my throat.

Methought I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more!
Macbeth does murder sleep!" the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care,

1 Act ii. sc. 1 in Dyce, Staunton, and White.

Ibid.

Sc. 2.1

Ibid.1

Ibid.1

The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast.

Macbeth. Act ii. Sc. 2.1

Ibid.1

Infirm of purpose!

'Tis the eye of childhood

Ibid.1

That fears a painted devil.

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood

Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather

The multitudinous seas incarnadine,

Making the green one red.

The labour we delight in physics pain.

Ibid.1

Sc. 3.2

The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o' the building!

Ibid.2

The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees

Is left this vault to brag of.

Ibid.2

Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious,

Loyal and neutral, in a moment?

Ibid.2

There's daggers in men's smiles.

Ibid.2

A falcon, towering in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.

Sc. 4.8

Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up
Thine own life's means!

I must become a borrower of the night
For a dark hour or twain.

1 Act ii. sc. 1 in Dyce, Staunton, and White.

2 Act ii. sc. 1 in Dyce and White; Act ii. sc. 2 in Staunton. 8 Act ii. sc. 2 in Dyce and White; Act ii. sc. 3 in Staunton.

Ibid.

Act ii. Sc. 1.

Let every man be master of his time

Till seven at night.

Macbeth. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,

And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,

Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,
No son of mine succeeding.

Ibid.

Mac. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men.

Ibid.

That I would set my life on any chance,

Ibid

To mend it, or be rid on 't.

Things without all remedy

Should be without regard; what's done is done.

We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it.

Better be with the dead,

Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,

Than on the torture of the mind to lie

In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;

After life's fitful fever he sleeps well:

Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison,

Can touch him further.

Sc. 2.

Ibid.

Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,

Ibid.