Miscellaneous / Shakespeare or Batman?

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Can you name the source, Shakespeare or Batman, who is quoted below?

Updated Feb 7, 2012

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Quote(S)hakespeare or (B)atman
As a man, I'm flesh and blood. I can be ignored, I can be destroyed.
I will break and twist things within you. You can't conceive of the pain I can cause.
Did I finally reach the limits of reason? And find the Devil waiting?
I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in my arms.
Weep I cannot. But my heart bleeds.
Smoldering, I burn you—burning you, I flare, hot and bright and fierce and beautiful.
You'll hunt me. You'll condemn me, set the dogs on me.
I will grind your bones to dust. And with your blood and it I’ll make a paste.
That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.
Then all you've waited for is a puppet. A soulless little doll.
The weight of this sad time we must obey.
I am a feather for each wind that blows.
...how many hours bring about the day, how many days will finish up the year, how many years a mortal man may live.
...and darkness be the burier of the dead.
You cannot stop me, not with wine or vows or the weight of age. You cannot stop me, but still you try.
Quote(S)hakespeare or (B)atman
We die every day...a thousand times an hour.
Welcome destruction, blood, and massacre. I see, as in a map, the end of all.
We both stared into the abyss, but when it looked back at us, you blinked.
He is come to open the purple testament of bleeding war.
They have tied me to a stake—I cannot fly. But, bear-like, I must fight the course.
Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.
Your feast is nearly over. From this moment on, none of you are safe.
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand. Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
I'm a man of thirty—of twenty again. The rain on my chest is a baptism. I'm born again.
I will not become an executioner.
I can live no longer by thinking.
And as the sun, that had been too afraid to show its face in this city, started to turn the black into grey, I smiled.
Sometimes it's only madness that makes us what we are.
As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods—they kill us for their sport.
Grief forgives what can never be forgiven.

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