Macbeth: a dagger of the mind

And nothing is, but what is not

False face must hide what the false heart doth know

A dagger of the mind, a false creation

In the great hand of God I stand

Tear to pieces that great bond / which keeps me pale

We are yet but young in deed

What, will the line stretch out to th' crack of doom

Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him

My way of life / is fallen into the sere, the yellow leaf

The time is free.