June 1, 2011
I have to get rid of some magazines before my shelves collapse! I'm going to sort through them, I've got to keep my favorites!
Wearing Prada pumps, AG jeans, a cashmere turtleneck from a thrift store, and a vintage stole. I got the glasses from a vintage store in Austin.
Kim loves to read!
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May 31, 2011
May 31, 2011 ... Appendix B: Night Vision Style Set Tags The following style tags are defined by this appendix: day This style set provides a color scheme ...
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A188.8.131.52 Emotion intensity
Intensity can be based on numeric values (0-100), or low-medium-high categories.<afraid intensity="50"> Do I have to go to the dentist? </afraid>
A184.108.40.206 Emotion intensity
Intensity can be based on numeric values (0-100), or low-medium-high categories.
Appendix B: Night Vision Style Set Tags
The following style tags are defined by this appendix:
- This style set provides a color scheme suited for daytime use (light background, dark text). This tag is mutually exclusive with
- This style set provides a color scheme suited for nighttime use (dark background, light text). This tag is mutually exclusive with
In the following example, the author provides style sheets for both both day vision and night vision presentations of the document. Both horizontal-text and vertical-text presentations are available, but the horizontal presentation is preferred:<link rel="alternate stylesheet" href="vertical.css" class="vertical" title="Vertical Day"/> <link rel="alternate stylesheet" href="day.css" class="day" title="Vertical Day"/> <link rel="alternate stylesheet" href="vertical.css" class="vertical" title="Vertical Night"/> <link rel="alternate stylesheet" href="night.css" class="night" title="Vertical Night"/> <link rel="stylesheet" href="horizontal.css" class="horizontal" title="Horizontal Day"/> <link rel="stylesheet" href="day.css" class="day" title="Horizontal Day"/> <link rel="stylesheet" href="horizontal.css" class="horizontal" title="Horizontal Night"/> <link rel="stylesheet" href="night.css" class="night" title="Horizontal Night"/>
Of the preferred style sets, the day vision variant is listed first, and so in the absence of other preferences will be loaded by default.
The same effect can be created with fewer link tags by using @import statements: <link rel="alternate stylesheet" href="vertical-day.css" class="vertical day" title="Vertical Day"/> <link rel="alternate stylesheet" href="vertical-night.css" class="vertical night" title="Vertical Night"/> <link rel="stylesheet" href="horizontal-day.css" class="horizontal day" title="Horizontal Day"/> <link rel="stylesheet" href="horizontal-night.css" class="horizontal night" title="Horizontal Night"/>/* vertical-day.css */ @import "vertical.css"; @import "day.css";/* vertical-night.css */ @import "vertical.css"; @import "night.css";/* horizontal-day.css */ @import "horizontal.css"; @import "day.css";/* horizontal-night.css */ @import "horizontal.css"; @import "night.css";
Ever wonder what that "degauss" button on your monitor does besides make a buzzing noise and cause the screen to go crazy for a second? Though that's its main purpose, the degauss button has another useful feature. To understand it, you'll first need to know that the earth has natural magnetic fields. The magnetic charges from these fields can build up inside your monitor, causing a loss of color accuracy. Degaussing scares the bad magnetism out of the monitor and fills it with good karma. If your monitor doesn't have a degauss button, fear not -- many new monitors automatically degauss themselves. If you have a flat-panel display, there is no degauss button because magnetism doesn't build up in flat screen displays.
I confess to whomever may read this: I am blogging not for the sake of writing, or because I am driven to express some urgent opinion or news. I started this blog so that I can experience blogging itself. I’m a technical writer working again after a four-year hiatus, for Flock, a Web 2.0 company. If I’m going to write Help information for Flock’s users, I’ve got to understand their world, which includes blogging. So here I am.
After giving it some thought I realized that the subject for my blogging would not be politics, or culture, or every day life. No, the obvious topic for me is what it’s like to re-enter the world of beta software and new tools and daily builds. Especially given that I’m rapidly approaching fogey-status, as a 51-year-old mom who first held a computer-related job over 35 years ago.
My lineage is Apple, Netscape/Mozilla, and Eazel. This represents a clear path leading to Flock. But I think choosing to work within the open source community requires something more: a come-to-Jesus moment, when one realizes that the best way for a tech writer to combat evil and support the good is to work with companies building on open source. As an ex-hippy flower child sort of person, I want any work I do in the world to support people of good will, not empire builders and greed-motivated monopolies. But enough of my politics.
My first job in computing was as a high school junior. I was given a security clearance and a stack of questionnaires containing personal data for hundreds of Coast Guard cadets. My company was trying to help the Coast Guard understand which cadets would quit after a short stint, and which ones would stay on. My job was to take data from the questionnaires and record it on giant code sheets, which would then go to keypunch operators. The resulting punched cards could be batch processed and statistically analyzed by an IBM mainframe. I don’t know if the answer was ever found. But four years ago when everyone was raving about “hanging chads,” I knew exactly what that meant.
The best part of that job was those huge code sheets, which had the words “FORmula TRANslation” printed at the top. Also, “FORTRAN Statement.” What wonderful words! Between that and the security clearance, I felt like I was involved in some sort of arcane secret society. I didn’t resemble the rest of the company, though. While everyone else came to work in white shirts and dark neckties, I wore sandals, long skirts, beads, and the standard hippy girl long straight hair.
I attended college at Wheaton College — not the evangelical school, but a small women’s school by the same name, located in in Norton Massachusetts. It was a great place for an incipient feminist to attend college. Wheaton was too small to have its own computer, but we had time-sharing with Dartmouth. Our time to use Dartmouth’s computer always seemed to be in the wee hours of the morning. I was one of students and faculty who took advantage of this resource. I don’t recall what I did — but I suspect it had less to do with work and more to do with figuring out the computer itself. Games? Poking around? I can’t remember, but I probably did both.
Graduate school at Yale, in political science, brought me back to batch processing and punched cards. Woe to she who dropped a stack of cards! My most vivid memory is of offering up my stack of cards, including data cards and instructions for the statistical analysis to be performed, to the card reader. If you received back a thick stack of printout, you won. (If the stack was thin, you lost — the error statements were short.) The computer itself lived behind closed doors, serviced by quiet, nerdish technical people. In another room, behind large glass windows, sat the select group authorized to use the interactive terminals that talked directly to the computer. Later, as acting director of a data analysis center at the University of Vermont, I found out that the interactive users were simply entering lines of code that looked just like the data on punched cards.
It was at Stanford University that I actually became hooked. As a research assistant for the Hoover Institution’s house Democrat (political scientist Heinz Eulau), I became one of the first users of the Hoover’s brand new computers. The Hoover was late in coming to computers, but someone donated two: a PDP-11 and a VAX. With my fellow research assistant and best friend Nancy, I devoted many hours to exploring these state-of-the-art machines via the text-based game “dungeon.” No graphics, no sound… just lines of text, such as “You have entered a dark cave. There is a jeweled box in the corner.” (One must type in a reply; in this example “take box” is the obvious response.)
Soon, however, I was recruited into writing small manuals for each Hoover department that wanted to use the computers. Someone pointed out that I could be paid good money for end-user technical writing. So just as I was beginning to realize that I hated political science and could study it no longer, an alternative career presented itself.
I convinced the technical writing department at Four Phase, a company later bought out and closed down by Motorola, to hire me as an entry-level writer. The publications group was large — we had a lot to write about, since the software was hard to use — and we worked in a set of astoundingly ugly pre-fab offices on the site that later became Apple’s campus. In 1985 I left Four Phase for maternity leave, never to return. Four Phase went out of business, and I was laid off while on leave.
It was around that time that Nancy and I decided, in conversation over lunch at Chef Chu’s in Mountain View, that we needed to buy personal computers. I remember we agreed that PCs had been around long enough that most of the bugs had probably been worked out. I purchased an 8088-based computer with no hard disk. A few months later I installed my first drive, and set myself up with a word processor so I could work as a consultant. Eventually I worked on a technical glossary for Apple’s corporate library, met some of the staff writers at Apple, and after a few more years of consulting, became a regular Apple employee.
Before Apple, I had worked strictly on a command line basis. I scorned menus. Why bother working one’s way through a menu hierarchy, when it was so much faster just to enter commands on one line? (I could touch type, too.) But the Apple computer I used for the library’s project had a mouse attached to it. Suddenly the point of the graphical user interface became clear. I tried an early version of Windows on my own computer (by then a 286-based one). Apple’s version was so much better — smiley icons, cute noises, etc. — that I became a faithful Apple user, as I am to this day.
At Apple I authored many Mac manuals, graduating over time to senior and principal writer. I worked on the first generation of Power Macs, and on the first implementation of Apple’s online Help system (Apple Guide). But the romance of the browser wars — or perhaps it was masochism — enticed me to move to Netscape. Sadly, at Netscape I became mired in Netscape 6. I keep my Netscape 6 tee shirt deeply buried in my dresser drawer, but I still proudly display my Mozilla memorabilia.
Mozilla taught me about the concept and mission of open source, giving me new hope that creativity would triumph over commercialism. At the end of the year 2000, I eagerly moved on to a position at Eazel, a startup company developing an easier user interface for Linux. Six weeks later, as the economy began its long slide, I was laid off.
I admit: I figured that with the economy headed down the toilet, open source would die out and Microsoft would win. September ushered in a new era of bleakness and despair. I decided to retire permanently to spend my time gardening, quilting, and being a mom. I retreated. I made a lot of quilts. My daughters became adults. My husband continued to work, much too hard. Four years passed.
Eli Goldberg, an old friend from Netscape and Eazel, finally suggested that I take a look at Flock. Bart Decrem called me, and I wandered over to Flock’s headquarters. It didn’t take long to fall for the garage filled with computers, beanbag pillows, and white boards. I discovered that the help text I’d written for Mozilla hadn’t changed much in four years. Perhaps no one’s working on it anymore. The possibility of doing a little something to help along a noble project, and lots of coffee, have drawn me out of my retirement.
So that’s how I came to Flock, to work once again on the open source browser. It all makes sense now that I read over this saga — I can’t resist a chance to work on something that challenges that looming force in Seattle. I’m pretty confident — actually, I’m VERY confident — that Microsoft can’t dominate the Web 2.0. It simply isn’t cool enough. That, and the fact that I can walk from my house over to Flock, and the presence at Flock of many great people and one very sweet dog, makes me feel ready to work one last time on the rough edge of the software industry.
But after this, I’m retiring for good.
Late at night sometime in Februari, Kalle Hasselström and Jon Åslund (that is us, we, the authors) were sitting with a programming assignment due for demonstration at nine the following morning. It was assignment number four in our Syntax Analysis course and we were pretty tired with it. The last assignment, on the other hand, seemed like much more fun, because you were allowed to do pretty much whatever you wanted as long as it involved lexical and syntactical analysis. So instead of finishing the fourth assignment, we started making up some great ideas for the fifth, the kind you only conceive of when you really should be asleep.
A few weeks earlier we had discovered a number of truly fascinating programming languages, such as Java2k1, Sorted!2, Brainfuck3 and Malbolge4, and we wanted to make our own. We have no idea why, but that night we were also thinking about Shakespeare in general, and Shakespearian insults in particular and three hours later we had come up with this amazing idea: the Shakespeare Programming Language, SPL.
This is the documentation of the language and how we made it.
The design goal was to make a language with beautiful source code that resembled Shakespeare plays. There are no fancy data or control structures, just basic arithmetic and gotos. You could say we have combined the expressiveness of BASIC with the user-friendliness of assembly language.
The course was about syntactic analysis, not compiler construction. Thus, we didn't make an SPL compiler, just an SPL to C converter. This proved to be fairly simple, since SPL can be translated directly to C, one statement at a time.
Since we don't want to break with ancient tradition, let's begin with a simple example: a Hello World program. Though it might seem otherwise, the sole purpose of this program is to print the string ``Hello World!''. It resides in the file hello.spl, and also in appendix . If you want to run it yourself, consult section .
Let's dissect the program and see how it works.
The first line of every SPL program is the title. Or actually, everything up until the first period is the title, whether it's one line, three lines, or half a line. You're generally free to insert space and newlines wherever you want in the code, but we urge you to please indent tastefully.
The title serves only aesthetic purposes. From the parser's point of view, it's a comment.
The next few lines are a list of all characters in the play. Think of them as variables, capable of holding a signed integer value. You must declare every character you intend to use, or the program won't compile.
A declaration consists of a name, followed by a description of the character (which is ignored by the parser). You can't pick just any name, however; you must use a real Shakespeare character name, such as Romeo, Juliet, or the Ghost (Hamlet's deceased father).
The purpose of acts and scenes is to divide the play into smaller parts. A play consists of one or more acts, each act consists of one or more scenes, and each scene consists of lines (where the characters say something) and enter and exit statements, which cause characters to get on and off the stage.
Acts and scenes are numbered with roman numerals. They begin with the word ``Act'' or ``Scene'', then the number, and then a description of what happens in that act or scene. Just as with the title and the character descriptions, these descriptions are ignored by the parser.
Besides being beautiful and descriptive, acts and scenes also serve as labels, which can be jumped to using goto statements. There are no gotos in the Hello World program, however, so we'll talk about that later.
To be able to speak their lines, characters must be on stage. The character they address as ``you'' (or ``thou'' or any other second-person pronoun) must also be on stage. But if there is yet another character on stage, it's not clear which one is intended. This is frowned upon by the parser.
Enter Enter and Exit5. These directives cause characters to get on and off stage. ``Enter'' is followed by a list of one or more characters. ``Exit'' is followed by exactly one character. The plural of Exit is ``Exeunt'', which is followed by a list of at least two characters - or none, in which case everyone leaves.
An Enter directive given to a character already on stage, or the other way around, will cause a runtime error.
A line consists of the name of a character, a colon, and one or more sentences. In the Hello World program, only two kinds of sentences are used: output, which causes output to the screen, and statements, which cause the second person to assume a certain value.
First, we'll explain how constants (that is, constant numbers, such as 17 and 4711) are expressed.
Any noun is a constant with the value 1 or , depending on whether it's nice or not. For example, ``flower'' has the value 1 because flowers are nice, but ``pig'' has the value because pigs are dirty (which doesn't prevent most people from eating them). Neutral nouns, such as ``tree'', count as 1 as well.
By prefixing a noun with an adjective, you multiply it by two. Another adjective, and it is multiplied by two again, and so on. That way, you can easily construct any power of two or its negation. From there, it's easy to construct arbitrary integers using basic arithmetic, such as ``the sum of and '', where and are themselves arbitrary integers.
For example, ``the difference between the square of the difference between my little pony and your big hairy hound and the cube of your sorry little codpiece''. Substituting the simple constants with numbers, we get ``the difference between the square of the difference between 2 and 4 and the cube of -4''. Now, since the difference between 2 and 4 is , and the cube of is , this is equal to ``the difference between the square of and ''. The square of is , and the difference of 4 and is 60. Thus, ``the difference between the square of the difference between my little pony and your big hairy hound and the cube of your sorry little codpiece'' means 60.
As you see, this way of writing constants gives you much more poetic freedom than in other programming languages.
Now, how do we use those numbers? Well, just have a look at the two statements ``You lying stupid fatherless big smelly half-witted coward!'' and ``You are as stupid as the difference between a handsome rich brave hero and thyself!''
The first one is simple: A second person pronoun, followed by a number. The effect of this statement is to assign the value of that number (in this case, ) to the character being spoken to. Think ``''.
The second one is slightly more complicated. For starters, what is the value of ``thyself''? That's not a noun, that's a reflexive pronoun. It's value is the current value of the character being spoken to. So the number in the second statement is , where is the value of the character being spoken to. And just as you might expect from your experience with English, the second statement is just another assignment. Think `` = 8 - ''. Being ``as bas as'', ``as good as'', or as [any adjective] as something else, means being equal to that something.
The other kind of sentence used in the Hello World program is output. There are two different output sentences, ``Open your heart'' and ``Speak your mind''. The first causes the character being spoken to to output her or his value in numerical form, and the other, being more literal, outputs the corresponding letter, digit, or other character, according to the character set being used by your computer.
In this program, we use only the second form. The whole program is a long sequence of constructing a number, writing the corresponding character, constructing the next number, writing the corresponding character, and so on.
Now for a slightly less trivial example: computing prime numbers. In the file primes.spl, and in appendix , is a program that asks the user for a number, then prints all primes less than or equal to that number.
There are three things in this program that we havn't seen before: input, gotos, and conditional statements.
The input statements work just like the output statements, except that they read instead of write. To read a number, as in this program, use the sentence ``Listen to your heart.'' To read a character, use ``Open your mind.'' The value will be assigned to the character being spoken to, as usual.
A sentence like ``Let us return to scene III'' means simply ``goto scene III''. Instead of ``let us'', you may use ``we shall'' or ``we must'', and instead of ``return to'', you may use ``proceed to''. If you specify a scene, it refers to that scene in the current act. There is no way to refer to a specific scene in another act - you have to settle for jumping to the act itself.
Conditional statements come in two easy steps, as illustrated by the following code fragment:
Juliet: Am I better than you? Hamlet: If so, let us proceed to scene III.
First, someone voices a question. This is some sort of comparison, which will be either true or false. But more on that later.
Then comes, at some later point, a conditional statement. This is constructed by putting either ``if so'' (or ``if not'') and a comma in front of any sentence - that sentence is only executed if the answer to the last question was yes (or no).
This is pretty much like how you would do conditional jumps and things in many assembly languages.
Comparisons are constructed the way you would expect: ``is as good as '' tests for equality, with and being arbitrary values. You may substitute ``good'' with any adjective. ``is better than '' tests if . This works for any positive comparative. If you want to test whether , use a negative comparative, such as ``worse''.
If you want to invert the test, say ``not as good as'' or ``not better than''.
One might almost say that the language described this far ought to be able to do anything that can be done with other programming languages, albeit more flowery, were it not for the fact that the storage capacity is severely limited. There are only so many Shakespeare characters (some one hundred of them are recognized by the parser), and each of them can only store an integer of finite size. Thus the storage capacity is finite, and it follows that SPL can only handle problems of finite size.
Realizing this, we added stacks to the language. We'll describe them in just a minute; but first, have a look at how they can be used. The program in the file reverse.spl - which can also be found in appendix - reads any number of characters, and then spits them out again in reverse order.
Characters in the Shakespeare Programming Language are not simple-minded, limited to remember just one number. Like normal people, they can actually remember several. In accord with modern, highly experimental psychological research, this is implemented with stacks.
Every character can push integers onto their memory, and pop them out again at a later time. Pushing is done like this:
Lady Macbeth: Remember me.
This of course causes whoever Lady Macbeth is speaking to to push the value of Lady Macbeth onto his or her stack. Popping is even simpler:
Lady Macbeth: Recall your imminent death!
The only significant word here is ``recall''; everything that follows is artistic fluff. This piece of code causes whoever Lady Macbeth is speaking to to pop an integer from his or her stack and assume that value for him- or herself.
Trying to pop when the stack is empty is a sure sign that the author has not yet perfected her storytelling skills, and will severly disappoint the runtime system.
There is no SPL compiler. We do encourage you to write one, but at present there is only a translator, which translates SPL to C. The C file is then compiled and linked the usual way.
The entire process is visualized in figure . There are two things to note. First, spl2c reads from stdin and writes to stdout, so to accomplish what you see in the figure, you would write spl2c < hello.spl > hello.c. Second, the object file must be linked with the library libspl.a, which contains such stuff as dreams are made on.
The SPL to C translator was built using Flex6 and Bison7. Flex creates a lexical analyzer, which eats source code and spits out tokens. Bison creates a parser that builds a parse tree out of these tokens, whereupon it is converted to C code.
We did not write the lexical analyzer specification by hand, since it contains a large number of very simple, very similar statements. Instead, we wrote a small program to do it for us.
The lexical analyzer and the parser are linked into the same executable, along with some string manipulation utilities that the parser uses a lot.
Last, we also build a library containing all the functions used in the C files generated by the translator.
Figure depicts the build process. makescanner is the program that creates the lexical analyzer specification (scanner.l). It reads a number of word list files, which list all SPL certified nouns, adjectives, character names, and so on.
(This is the contents of the file hello.spl.)
The Infamous Hello World Program. Romeo, a young man with a remarkable patience. Juliet, a likewise young woman of remarkable grace. Ophelia, a remarkable woman much in dispute with Hamlet. Hamlet, the flatterer of Andersen Insulting A/S. Act I: Hamlet's insults and flattery. Scene I: The insulting of Romeo. [Enter Hamlet and Romeo] Hamlet: You lying stupid fatherless big smelly half-witted coward! You are as stupid as the difference between a handsome rich brave hero and thyself! Speak your mind! You are as brave as the sum of your fat little stuffed misused dusty old rotten codpiece and a beautiful fair warm peaceful sunny summer's day. You are as healthy as the difference between the sum of the sweetest reddest rose and my father and yourself! Speak your mind! You are as cowardly as the sum of yourself and the difference between a big mighty proud kingdom and a horse. Speak your mind. Speak your mind! [Exit Romeo] Scene II: The praising of Juliet. [Enter Juliet] Hamlet: Thou art as sweet as the sum of the sum of Romeo and his horse and his black cat! Speak thy mind! [Exit Juliet] Scene III: The praising of Ophelia. [Enter Ophelia] Hamlet: Thou art as lovely as the product of a large rural town and my amazing bottomless embroidered purse. Speak thy mind! Thou art as loving as the product of the bluest clearest sweetest sky and the sum of a squirrel and a white horse. Thou art as beautiful as the difference between Juliet and thyself. Speak thy mind! [Exeunt Ophelia and Hamlet] Act II: Behind Hamlet's back. Scene I: Romeo and Juliet's conversation. [Enter Romeo and Juliet] Romeo: Speak your mind. You are as worried as the sum of yourself and the difference between my small smooth hamster and my nose. Speak your mind! Juliet: Speak YOUR mind! You are as bad as Hamlet! You are as small as the difference between the square of the difference between my little pony and your big hairy hound and the cube of your sorry little codpiece. Speak your mind! [Exit Romeo] Scene II: Juliet and Ophelia's conversation. [Enter Ophelia] Juliet: Thou art as good as the quotient between Romeo and the sum of a small furry animal and a leech. Speak your mind! Ophelia: Thou art as disgusting as the quotient between Romeo and twice the difference between a mistletoe and an oozing infected blister! Speak your mind! [Exeunt]
(This is the contents of the file primes.spl.)
Prime Number Computation in Copenhagen. Romeo, a young man of Verona. Juliet, a young woman. Hamlet, a temporary variable from Denmark. The Ghost, a limiting factor (and by a remarkable coincidence also Hamlet's father). Act I: Interview with the other side. Scene I: At the last hour before dawn. [Enter the Ghost and Juliet] The Ghost: You pretty little warm thing! Thou art as prompt as the difference between the square of thyself and your golden hair. Speak your mind. Juliet: Listen to your heart! [Exit the Ghost] [Enter Romeo] Juliet: Thou art as sweet as a sunny summer's day! Act II: Determining divisibility. Scene I: A private conversation. Juliet: Art thou more cunning than the Ghost? Romeo: If so, let us proceed to scene V. [Exit Romeo] [Enter Hamlet] Juliet: You are as villainous as the square root of Romeo! Hamlet: You are as lovely as a red rose. Scene II: Questions and the consequences thereof. Juliet: Am I better than you? Hamlet: If so, let us proceed to scene III. Juliet: Is the remainder of the quotient between Romeo and me as good as nothing? Hamlet: If so, let us proceed to scene IV. Thou art as bold as the sum of thyself and a roman. Juliet: Let us return to scene II. Scene III: Romeo must die! [Exit Hamlet] [Enter Romeo] Juliet: Open your heart. [Exit Juliet] [Enter Hamlet] Romeo: Thou art as rotten as the difference between nothing and the sum of a snotty stinking half-witted hog and a small toad! Speak your mind! [Exit Romeo] [Enter Juliet] Scene IV: One small dog at a time. [Exit Hamlet] [Enter Romeo] Juliet: Thou art as handsome as the sum of thyself and my chihuahua! Let us return to scene I. Scene V: Fin. [Exeunt]
(This is the contents of the file reverse.spl.)
Outputting Input Reversedly. Othello, a stacky man. Lady Macbeth, who pushes him around till he pops. Act I: The one and only. Scene I: In the beginning, there was nothing. [Enter Othello and Lady Macbeth] Othello: You are nothing! Scene II: Pushing to the very end. Lady Macbeth: Open your mind! Remember yourself. Othello: You are as hard as the sum of yourself and a stone wall. Am I as horrid as a flirt-gill? Lady Macbeth: If not, let us return to scene II. Recall your imminent death! Othello: You are as small as the difference between yourself and a hair! Scene III: Once you pop, you can't stop! Lady Macbeth: Recall your unhappy childhood. Speak your mind! Othello: You are as vile as the sum of yourself and a toad! Are you better than nothing? Lady Macbeth: If so, let us return to scene III. Scene IV: The end. [Exeunt]