He that loves pleasure must for pleasure fall.

I am Envy...I cannot read and therefore wish all books burned.

I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance.

What art thou Faustus, but a man condemned to die?

You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute, And now and then stab, as occasion serves.

Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.

All live to die, and rise to fall.