All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!— William Shakespeare
Risky Macbeth Sleep quotations
Out, damned spot! Out, I say!
The worst thing in the world is to try to sleep and not to.
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.
You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
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!
But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly.
Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.
Out, damned spot! out, I say! One: two: why, then 'tis time to do't. Hell is murky!
Sleep lingers all our lifetime about our eyes, as night hovers all day in the boughs of the fir-tree.
Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day.
What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.
Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.
Sleep, rest of things, O pleasing Deity, Peace of the soul, which cares dost crucify, Weary bodies refresh and mollify.
A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching!
There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out.
The worst thing in the world is to be bland.
Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care.
Methought I heard a voice cry Sleep no more,Macbeth does murder sleep the innocent sleep,Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of careThe death of each day's life, sore labour's bathBalm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,Chief nourisher in life's feast.
The idea of Macbeth as a conscience-torm ented man is a platitude as false as Macbeth himself. Macbeth has no conscience. His main concern throughout the play is that most selfish of all concerns: to get a good night's sleep.