“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.”

“What hands are here? ha! 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.” “My hands are of your colour; but I shame to wear a heart so white. A little water clears us of this deed: How easy it is then! Your constancy hath left you unattended.”

“Love is a boomerang dripped in honey, in that it emanates from me just as surely as it will return to me. Still, I think I’d much rather wash my hands and be done with it.”

“I know great art when someone doesn’t wash their hands after making it. And not only did Duchamp not wash his hands, but he didn’t even flush!”

“If I wasn't writing poems, I'd be washing my hands all the time.”

“Even the blood is quickly washing away in the driving rain, I wish my conscience could get clean so fast.”