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 a fatal vision, sensible
To feeling, as to sight? Or art thou but
a dagger of the mind, a flase creation,
proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in a form as palpable,
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going,
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other senses
Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;
And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood
Which was not so before. There's no such thing:
It is the bloody business, which informs
Thus to my eyes.

Lady Mcbeth