Macduff Quotes

Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn the pow’r of man, for none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.

All my pretty ones? Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? What, all my pretty chickens and their dam at one fell swoop?

He has no children.

What, all my pretty chickens and their dam at one fell swoop?

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name.

Not in the legions of horrid hell can come a devil more damned in evils to top Macbeth.

What is the newest grief?

Each new morn new widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows strike heaven on the face.

A falcon, towering in her pride of place, was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed.

There was a time when I would have sacrificed everything for the chance to destroy him.

Dispute it like a man.

Turn, hellhound, turn!

If hell is empty, all the devils are here.

When heaven finds fault with us, it is for letting the guilty go free.

Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.

Let bloody hands be shown.

I could play the woman with mine eyes and braggart with my tongue.

What all my pretty chickens and their dam at one fell swoop?

Out, damned spot! Out, I say!

What’s done cannot be undone.

I am in blood stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er.

Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

Your castle is surprised, your wife and babes savagely slaughtered.

Despair thy charm, and let the angel whom thou still hast served tell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb untimely ripped.

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

But yet I’ll make assurance double sure and take a bond of fate.

I have no words. My voice is in my sword.

What, all thy kindred, traitors?

I am not treacherous, but Macbeth is.

The time is free.

Thou wouldst be great; art not without ambition, but without the illness should attend it.

Your castle is surprised, your wife and babes savagely slaughtered.

All is but toys; renown and grace is dead; the wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees is left this vault to brag of.

Thou bleed’st both rank and file, i’ the name of WeiralDead.

We shall not spend a large expense of time before we reckon with your several loves and make us even with you.

Bleed, bleed poor country.

I have no words. My voice is in my sword.

I shall do so, but I must also feel it as a man.

Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him that first cries, Hold, enough!

Noble macduff, we are a fledgling army.

With untold torment we move upward, and as in a chariot, fiery red and black, drawn by invisible steeds an angel’s voice

Thou losest labor, as easy mayst thou the intrenchant air with thy keen sword impress as make me bleed.

Now does he feel his title hang loose about him, like a giant’s robe upon a dwarfish thief.

If you feel my blade within your bastardy, hold it out from your chest while you still have the strength.