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A review by nhborg
Macbeth: The New Oxford Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
5.0
4.5
«I am in blood
Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o’er.»
I’m so happy I finally read «Macbeth», my first of Shakespeare’s tragedies! It doesn’t come as a huge surprise that it is my favorite play of his so far. Gotta love the drama, the guilt, the creepy witches, and the bloodshed. I was intrigued from the very beginning and became an excited and aghast witness to Macbeth’s descent into tyranny and paranoia. His entire future is sacrificed in exchange for a brutal and haunting present.
Since it was «Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow» by Gabrielle Zevin that finally pushed me to read this, I obviously have to include the iconic quote to go with it:
«Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.»
No one can describe the futility of life like Shakeyboy can
«I am in blood
Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o’er.»
I’m so happy I finally read «Macbeth», my first of Shakespeare’s tragedies! It doesn’t come as a huge surprise that it is my favorite play of his so far. Gotta love the drama, the guilt, the creepy witches, and the bloodshed. I was intrigued from the very beginning and became an excited and aghast witness to Macbeth’s descent into tyranny and paranoia. His entire future is sacrificed in exchange for a brutal and haunting present.
Since it was «Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow» by Gabrielle Zevin that finally pushed me to read this, I obviously have to include the iconic quote to go with it:
«Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.»
No one can describe the futility of life like Shakeyboy can