Macduff Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Macduff. Here they are! All 29 of them:

Lady Macduff: [To her son] Sirrah, your father's dead: And What will you do now? How will you live? Son: As birds do, mother. Lady Macduff: What, with worms and flies? Son: With what I get, I mean. and so do they
William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
All is the fear, and nothing is the love, as little is the wisdom, where the flight so runs against all reason.
William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
FIRST MURDERER: Where is your husband? LADY MACDUFF: I hope, in no place so unsanctified Where such as thou mayst find him.
William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
Can you do it?' 'Maybe I can, and maybe I can't. But I am going to make MacDuff think that I can. And belief,' said Gabriel Love, with the smile of an angel, 'is a wonderful thing.
Edward Rutherfurd (New York)
Son: What is a traitor? Lady Macduff: Why, one that swears and lies. Son: And be all traitors that do so? Lady Macduff: Everyone that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged. Son: Who must hang them? Lady Macduff Why, the honest men. Son: Then the liars and swearers are fools; for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men, and hang up them.
William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
MACBETH I will not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, And to be baited with the rabble's curse. Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou opposed, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!
William Shakespeare
Turn hell-hound, turn.
William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
Lay on, MacDuff
William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
MACDUFF That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face! If thou beest slain, and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children’s ghosts will haunt me still.
William Shakespeare (Macbeth (The Modern Shakespeare: The Original Play with a Modern Translation))
I have no words. My voice is in my sword.
William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
Lady Macduff: Now God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? Son: If he were dead, you'd weep for him. If you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father.
William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
MACDUFF  What three things does drink especially pro- 27 voke? 28 PORTER  Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. 29 Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes. It pro- 30 vokes the desire, but it takes away the perfor- 31 mance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an 32 equivocator with lechery. It makes him, and it 33 mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it 34 persuades him and disheartens him; makes him 35 stand to and not stand to; in conclusion, equivo- 36 cates him in a sleep and, giving him the lie, leaves 37 him. 38 MACDUFF  I believe drink gave thee the lie last night.
William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
¿Adónde huir? Yo no he hecho ningún daño. Aunque bien recuerdo que estoy en el mundo, donde suele alabarse el hacer daño y hacer bien se juzga locura temeraria
William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
If we divide human attributes into "masculine" and "feminine" and strengthen only those attributes that "belong" to that sex, we cut off half of ourselves from ourselves as human beings, condemned forever to search for our other half. The world is in desperate need of multilayered human beings with the voices, stamina, and insight to break through our current calcified ways of doing things, (...) The patriarchal structures of honor, shame, violence, and might is right, do as much harm to Hamlet, Edgar, Lear, and Coriolanus as they do to Ophelia, Desdemona, Lady Macduff (...) (...) To have feelings, intuitive flights of understanding, a desire to have knowledge of what is happening below the surface, to serve. These are often called "feminine" attributes, and it is true that many women in the plays possess them. But they also belong to Kent, Ferdinand, Florizel, Camillo, as well as the women. So they are not "feminine" attributes: they are human attributes.
Tina Packer (Women of Will: Following the Feminine in Shakespeare's Plays)
bedroom. “And, please, stay away from Venable, Jock. Don’t let him talk you into doing anything like this again.” He didn’t answer, and she glanced back over her shoulder. He smiled, that beautiful, gentle smile that had first drawn her to him when he was a boy scarcely out of his teens. “Things aren’t good for you, Jane. I have to make them better.” She shook her head helplessly. In his way, he was an implacable force on the same scale as MacDuff. “Good night.” She closed the bedroom door
Iris Johansen (Eight Days To Live (Eve Duncan, #10))
We've been told that with regard to seduction, "candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker," but in truth, rather, properly selected: "candy makes randy; liquor makes desire flicker"; or, as Shakespeare's porter said to Macduff: "[drink] provokes the desire but it takes away the performance." The wines and beers of antiquity, however, which were potent infusions of innumerable psychoactive plants, often requiring dilution with water and in which alcohol served rather as preservative then inebriating active principle.
Rick Doblin (Manifesting Minds: A Review of Psychedelics in Science, Medicine, Sex, and Spirituality)
You, the reader, make the book, but the book does not in itself exist between these decomposing covers. You read the script, you are, in your mind, actor, patron, director. Critic, ultimately. This collection of pages is just the beginning of a greater creation." "If what you say is true, then what of the writer of the books? Great men wrote them, and they know much more than I what is to be said and learned... [the author] surely knew more than I, and besides, the book is complete in itself." "[The author] may be great, but he still waits patiently for you to read him, and his books are incomplete without you. Without the reader, they are lines unspoken, scripts with neither reader nor audience. Recipes with no food - - and no cook. In a very real way, then, the book is not, as you say, complete. Until you read it. My point is, that in all of your deference and study you must remember who you are and realize that you are sharing--on equal terms--with the messenger on the other side of the page." ~McDuff from The Spawn of Loki (The MacDuff Saga) by Jason Henderson
Jason Henderson (The Spawn of Loki (The MacDuff Saga))
In a physician's office in Kearny Street three men sat about a table, drinking punch and smoking. It was late in the evening, almost midnight, indeed, and there had been no lack of punch. The gravest of the three, Dr. Helberson, was the host—it was in his rooms they sat. He was about thirty years of age; the others were even younger; all were physicians. "The superstitious awe with which the living regard the dead," said Dr. Helberson, "is hereditary and incurable. One needs no more be ashamed of it than of the fact that he inherits, for example, an incapacity for mathematics, or a tendency to lie." The others laughed. "Oughtn't a man to be ashamed to lie?" asked the youngest of the three, who was in fact a medical student not yet graduated. "My dear Harper, I said nothing about that. The tendency to lie is one thing; lying is another." "But do you think," said the third man, "that this superstitious feeling, this fear of the dead, reasonless as we know it to be, is universal? I am myself not conscious of it." "Oh, but it is 'in your system' for all that," replied Helberson; "it needs only the right conditions—what Shakespeare calls the 'confederate season'—to manifest itself in some very disagreeable way that will open your eyes. Physicians and soldiers are of course more nearly free from it than others." "Physicians and soldiers!—why don't you add hangmen and headsmen? Let us have in all the assassin classes." "No, my dear Mancher; the juries will not let the public executioners acquire sufficient familiarity with death to be altogether unmoved by it." Young Harper, who had been helping himself to a fresh cigar at the sideboard, resumed his seat. "What would you consider conditions under which any man of woman born would become insupportably conscious of his share of our common weakness in this regard?" he asked, rather verbosely. "Well, I should say that if a man were locked up all night with a corpse—alone—in a dark room—of a vacant house—with no bed covers to pull over his head—and lived through it without going altogether mad, he might justly boast himself not of woman born, nor yet, like Macduff, a product of Cæsarean section." "I thought you never would finish piling up conditions," said Harper, "but I know a man who is neither a physician nor a soldier who will accept them all, for any stake you like to name." "Who is he?" "His name is Jarette—a stranger here; comes from my town in New York. I have no money to back him, but he will back himself with loads of it." "How do you know that?" "He would rather bet than eat. As for fear—I dare say he thinks it some cutaneous disorder, or possibly a particular kind of religious heresy." "What does he look like?" Helberson was evidently becoming interested. "Like Mancher, here—might be his twin brother." "I accept the challenge," said Helberson, promptly. "Awfully obliged to you for the compliment, I'm sure," drawled Mancher, who was growing sleepy. "Can't I get into this?" "Not against me," Helberson said. "I don't want your money." "All right," said Mancher; "I'll be the corpse." The others laughed. The outcome of this crazy conversation we have seen.
Ambrose Bierce (In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and Civilians)
En carta del 9 de septiembre de 1817 a su londinense iniciador masónico, lord MacDuff, escribe San Martín, acongojado: “¡Qué sentimiento de dolor, mi querido amigo, debe despertar en vuestro pecho el destino de estas bellas regiones! Parecería que los españoles estuvieran empecinados en convertirlas en un desierto, tal es el carácter de la guerra que hacen. Ni edades ni sexos escapan al patíbulo”.
Pacho O'Donnell (Breve historia argentina. De la Conquista a los Kirchner)
Before I can say anything, the door to my parents’ apartment bursts open. My little sister darts out, and she dashes down the concrete stairs. “Tina, Tina!” She cannons into me; I grab hold of her. We squeeze each other hard. She’s getting so big now—she’s just an inch shorter than I am—and she hugs my breath out. “Stop,” I croak. “Mayday, mayday!” “I’m so glad you’re here. Can you tell Mom that I am too old enough to go to a coed sleepover?” I give her a once over. “Sure,” I say, “as long as the parents kick it off by caponizing all the boys.” Beside me, Blake chokes. “What’s caponizing?” “Removing the testicles,” I say. “It improves the temperament of the male animal. Try it sometime.” Blake clears his throat. “Oh,” I say. “Mayday, this is Blake Rivers.” We’ve agreed—and by we’ve agreed I mean I’ve insisted—that we won’t give his real name. No point opening that door. Mom is bad enough when she thinks he doesn’t have any money. I can’t imagine what it would be like if she knew the truth. “Blake, this is my little sister. Her name is Mabel, but I call her anything that starts with an M. Mayday, Maple, and Muggle are my favorites.” She wrinkles her nose at Blake. “You can call me Mabel.” Mabel purses her lips and looks at Blake. Blake looks at her right back. Some people say that Mabel and I look alike, and I guess we do, in the most superficial sense. We’re both Chinese. But Mabel’s hair is short and dyed blue, and she wears it pulled over her eyes. Her eyes are set more narrowly than mine. And—this is really unfair, but I swear I am not bitter about this—she is thirteen and she’s already in B-cups. Which, ahem. Is more than I will ever manage. Mabel shrugs. “Hi Blake. You’re the guy who is definitely not Tina’s boyfriend.” Blake shifts the shoulder strap of his bag. “One of many, I presume.” “Nope.” Mabel twirls away. “You’re the only one. The rest of the boys aren’t dating her.” “Oh, well,” Blake says vaguely. “That is an important distinction.” I try to jab my elbow into his side, but he sidles away. “And you’re the only she talks about like this: ‘Mom, he’s not my boyfriend.’” Oh, that imitation. It’s just a little too spot on. I raise a finger at her, but she twirls away before I can get her back. “Come on. Mom is cooking. This is the first time you’ve brought a boyfriend home from college.” “He’s not my—” I stop, because my sister’s lips are twitching. “Fine.” I pick up my own bag. “Lay on, Macduff,” Blake says. Mabel stops and turns to him. “Hey. Only Tina can call me M-words other than Mabel.” “Sorry.” “Tina and her boyfriend,” she corrects. “So you’re okay.
Courtney Milan (Trade Me (Cyclone, #1))
. . . his fingers were half an inch longer than the fingers of most men his height. Had he been a pianist, Andrey could easily have straddled a twelfth. Had he been a puppeteer, he could have performed the sword fight between Macbeth and Macduff as all three witches looked on.
Towles, Amor
He left such a reputation behind him that even his birth was said to have proclaimed him a monster. He had been two years, we are told, in his mother’s womb, and was born or rather, like Macduff, was by a surgical operation separated from his mother’s body when he came into the world feet foremost, with teeth in his jaws, and with hair down to the shoulders.
James Gairdner (History of the Life and Reign of Richard the Third)
And? you’re thinking. Spaghetti Bolognese?! you’re thinking. What’s that got to do with anything? Well, as my homeroom teacher Mr. Rourke would say, “read on Macduff,” which is something to do with Shakespeare. See? You’ve learned something already!
James Patterson (Middle School: How I Got Lost in London)
thought about the scene in Macbeth when Macduff finds out that Macbeth has murdered his wife and all his kids. Macduff is understandably crushed by this discovery. Then Malcolm tells him, “Dispute it like a man.” Macduff responds, “I shall do so; but I must also feel it as a man.” That’s what I had to do. When meth led me to a fucked up state of mind, I had to feel it as a man, then dispute it as a man. That’s when I decided that whenever hoover fucked up my mind-state, I’d call it Macmeth.
Nate Botsis (The Meth Chronicles)
I will not be afraid of death and bane Till Birnam Forest come to Dunsinane.
William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
Heaven!
John R. Macduff (The Mind of Jesus)
Yet I will try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!
William Shakespeare (The Complete Works of Shakespeare)
Lay on, MacDuff Lay on with the soup, and the Haggis and stuff; For though ’tis said you are our foe What side my bread’s buttered on you bet I know!
S.M. Stirling (A Meeting at Corvallis (Emberverse, #3))
In October, Louise showed several new paintings at the Panoras Gallery on Fifty-Sixth Street. During this period, she painted nudes, interiors, several versions of MacDuff, many portraits, at least two paintings set in public buses, and other New York street-life subjects. Her stylized figures were often inspired by random encounters and eavesdropping. Observing underdogs and outsiders in action, she was drawn to faces and to cityscapes and to a style that incorporated storytelling and allegory. Louise’s new work was influenced by the scene painting of the Works Progress Administration and Mexican muralists; by Käthe Kollwitz and German expressionists like Max Beckmann, Oskar Kokoschka, and Egon Schiele; by Alice Neel, Francis Bacon, and other portraitists—and, to an increasing extent, by medieval tapestries and frescoes by Bolognese Renaissance artists such as Pellegrino Tibaldi. Louise kept working to reveal the lives behind the faces she portrayed—their backstory—and began to introduce some southern imagery from her own memories. She was fascinated by the story beneath the surface and whatever metaphysical qualities she could draw from the depths of her subject.
Leslie Brody (Sometimes You Have to Lie: The Life and Times of Louise Fitzhugh, Renegade Author of Harriet the Spy)