I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: but there’s no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust; and my desire All continent impediments would o’erbear, That did oppose my will: better Macbeth Than such an one to reign.
There are no more uses of "deceit" in the play.
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I’ll never forget her deceit.
Nothing is easier than self-deceit. For what each man wishes, that he also believes to be true.