"Overconfidence"
Horrid image fears none of women born
Conceal and tear that great bond which is against the use of nature
When the moon is down; whose murder yet is fantastical
Cannot be ill, cannot be good if chance will have me king
A dagger summons me to hell
This is a sorry sight which appalls the devil
"Behold! I conjure you! Answer me!"
Call'em, let me see'em
Let me know, three Weird Sisters, the bond of fate
Let him, Malcolm, fight
"What's he that was not born of woman?"
"What is that noise?" The Queen, my lord, is dead
Smell the blood; I almost forgot the taste of fear
Hail, Macbeth, King of Scotland no longer