Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o’ th’milk of human kindness to catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great, Art not without ambition, but without the illness should attend it.
Come you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full of direct cruelty. Make thick my blood, Stop up th’access and passage to remorse
Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it
He is here in double trust: First, as I am his kinsman and his subject-/ Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,/ Who should against his murderer shut the door,/ Not bear the knife myself.
I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent, but only vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself and falls on the other.
We will proceed no further in this business. He hath honoured me of late
Screw your courage to the sticking-place and we’ll not fail.
False face must hide what the false heart doth know”