Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty!... Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers....
“ My hands are your colour; but I shame To wear a heart so white.”
Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content: 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
"They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly, But bear-like I must fight the course."