Is this a dagger which I see before me,  
 The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:  
 I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.  
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible  
 To feeling as to sight? or art thou but  
 A dagger of the mind, a false creation,  
 Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
Macbeth (1606) act 2, sc. 1, l. 33























