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October 21, 2009

Macbeth:
Whence is that knocking?
How is’t with me, when every noise appalls me?
What hands are here? Hah! They pluck out mine eyes.
Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather                      
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.

{should i get the solar system tattoed by this? I think I might}

 

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