Alex Kingston Central

I think my heart is somewhere in a puddle near your feet

To bed, to bed! There’s knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What’s done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.

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. (Macbeth III. ii.)

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The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe topful Of direst cruelty!

~ Macbeth and his Lady

Macbeth and Lady Macbeth

False face must hide what the false heart doth know.