All live to die, and rise to fall.
What feeds me destroys me.
Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir'd his overthrow.
Why should you love him whom the world hates so? Because he love me more than all the world.
Had I as many souls as there be stars, I'd give them all for Mephistopheles!
Where both deliberate, the love is slight: Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?