Quotes About Guilt

All causes shall give way: I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.

The Play's the Thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.

I am a man more sinned against than sinning

Blood will have blood.

A little water clears us of this deed.

Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end; Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.

Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house: 'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more,—Macbeth shall sleep no more!

Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth

What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red." "My hands are of your colour; but I shame to wear a heart so white. A little water clears us of this deed: How easy it is then! Your constancy hath left you unattended.

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

I would forget it fain, But oh, it presses to my memory, Like damnèd guilty deeds to sinners' minds.

It will have blood they say - blood will have blood.

O shame! where is thy blush?

How stand I, then, That have a father killed, a mother stained, Excitements of my reason and my blood, And let all sleep, while to my shame I see The imminent death of twenty thousand men That for a fantasy and trick of fame Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough and continent To hide the slain? O, from this time forth My thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth! He exits.

Whence is that knocking? How is't with me when every noise appals me? What hands are here! Ha - they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood         Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.

I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,—

What if this cursed hand were thicker than itself with brother's blood, is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens to wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy but to confront the visage of offense? And what's in prayer but this twofold force, to be forestalled ere we come to fall, or pardoned being down? Then I'll look up. My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer can serve my tern? 'Forgive me my foul murder'?

A murderer's guilt is easier to hide than feelings of love. Midday is like nighttime for love—that's how brightly passion shines.

To bed, to bed! There's a knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed!

the essence of Macbeth is seeing a great and intelligent man succumb to the forces of darkness. What gives the tragedy

What if this cursed hand were thicker than itself with brother's blood, Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens to wash it white as snow?

Sawcy, and ouer-bold, how did you dare To Trade, and Trafficke with Macbeth, In Riddles, and Affaires of death; And I the Mistris of your Charmes, The close contriuer of all harmes, Was neuer call'd to beare my part, Or shew the glory of our Art?