quote by William Shakespeare

Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.

— William Shakespeare

Lavish Macbeth quotations

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.

Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.

All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!

My way of life Is fall'n into the sear and yellow leaf.

Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.

A little water clears us of this deed.

Out, damned spot! Out, I say!

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.

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

The instruments of darkness tell us truths.

I see Macbeth as a young, open-faced warrior, who is gradually sucked into a whirpool of events because of his ambition. When he meets the weird sisters and hears their prophecy, he's like the man who hopes to win a million - a gamble for high stakes.

When our actions do not, our fears make us traitors.

I'm either the witch or Lady Macbeth of English politics, but someone gotta wear the pants in England when others wearing kilts

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

Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.

The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him... [from Macbeth]

Many actors want to play Hamlet and Macbeth.

Ever since I became an actor, from the very beginning I just wanted to play a Shetland pony. I cannot explain why

[Macbeth] is historically set in a place depicted by Shakespeare as brutal and violent, incredibly superstitious, and that's something that I do believe is Scottish.

Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side

The worst thing in the world is to try to sleep and not to.

If Shakespeare had to go on an author tour to promote Romeo and Juliet, he never would have written Macbeth.

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.

Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.

You lack the season of all natures, sleep.

O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.

At 18 I began painting steadily fulltime and at age 20 had my first New York show at the Macbeth Gallery.

That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quenched them hath given me fire.

Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil

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!

By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.

If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me.

Or art thou but / A dagger of the mind, a false creation, / Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

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