When Truth Kills Truth, O Devilish Holy

I Am But Mad North-north-west. When The Wind Is Southerly, I Know A Hawk From A Handsaw.

Be Advised; Heat Not A Furnace For Your Foe So Hot That It Do Singe Yourself: We May Outrun, By Violent Swiftness, That Which We Run At, And Lose By Over-running. Know You Not, The Fire That Mounts The Liquor Til Run O'er, In Seeming To Augment It Wastes It?

Our Enemies Are Our Outward Consciences.

You Saw Her Fair, None Else Being By, Herself Pois'd With Herself In Either Eye; But In That Crystal Scales Let There Be Weigh'd Your Lady's Love Against Some Other Maid That I Will Show You Shining At This Feast, And She Shall Scant Show Well That Now Seems Best.

Ross You Must Have Patience, Madam. Lady Macduff He Had None: His Flight Was Madness: When Our Actions Do Not, Our Fears Do Make Us Traitors.