Macbeth does murder sleep: the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast.
(Macbeth, Act 2 Scene 2)
Donalbain (Act 2 Scene 3)
Double, double toil and trouble:
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
(Witches, Act 4 Scene 1)
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
(Second Witch, Act 4 Scene 1)
“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
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.”
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