I dreamed last night of the three weird sisters; to you they have showed some truth.
I think not of them.;
Is this a dagger which I see before, the handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee: I have thee not, fatal vision, sensible to feeling as to sight? Or art thou but a dagger of the mind, a false creation, proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I have done the deed.
I`ll go no more. I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on`t again; I dare not.