You cram these words into mine ears against the stomach of my sense.

O shame! where is thy blush?

The robb'd that smiles, steals something from the thief.

She is so conjunctive to my life and soul, that, as the star moves not but in his sphere, I could not but by her.

Conscience does make cowards of us all.

Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge of thine own cause.

Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.

The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan (40) Under my battlements. 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.

Don't trust the person who has broken faith once.

Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense tou whilt.