macbeth quotes

Fair is foul, and foul is fair;/ Hover through the fog and filthy air.

Three Witches

What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won.

King Duncan

All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!/All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee,/ Thane of Cawdor!/All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king/ hereafter.

Three Witches

Come you spirits/ that tend on mortal thoughts! Unsex me here,/ and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full/ of direst cruelty; make thick my blood;

Lady Macbeth

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour/ To make thee full of growing.  Noble Banquo,

King Duncan

There if I grow,/ The harvest is your own.

Banquo

The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step/On which I must fall down, or else o’er-leap/ For in my way it lies.  Stars, hide your fires!/ Let not light see my black and deep desires;

Macbeth

Bear welcome in your eye,/ Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent/ flower,/ but be the serpent under’t

Lady Macbeth

If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well/ It were done quickly;

Macbeth

False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

Macbeth

If you shall cleave to my consent, when/ ‘tis/ It shall make honour for you

Macbeth

To be thus is nothing; But to be safely thus.

Macbeth

It is concluded: Banquo, thy soul’s flight / if it find heaven, must find it out to-night.

Macbeth

Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood/ Clean from my hand?  No, this is my hand will rather/ The multitudinous seas incarnadine,/ Making the green on red.

Macbeth

Things without all remedy / Should be without regard: What’s done is done.

Lady Macbeth

Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill

Macbeth

It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood.

Macbeth

Double, double toil and trouble/fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Three Witches

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

Three Witches

Out damned spot! Out, I say!

Lady Macbeth

All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.

Lady Macbeth

What’s done cannot be undone.

Lady Macbeth

She should have died hereafter. There would have been a time for such a word. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools. The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle./ Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player/That struts and frets/his hour upon the stage,/And then is heard no more. It is a tale/Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,/ Signifying nothing.

Macbeth