A little more than kin, and less than kind.
Out, damned spot! out, I say!
By the pricking of my thumbs,Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks!
Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
The attempt and not the deed Confounds us.
Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a
Our envy of others devours us most of all.
There is a tide in the affairs of men Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries.