Live and die in Aristotle's works.
Fools that will laugh on earth, most weep in hell.
Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, And burned is Apollo's laurel bough, That sometime grew within this learned man. Faustus is gone.
Virtue is the fount whence honour springs.
That perfect bliss and sole felicity, the sweet fruition of an earthly crown.
I'm armed with more than complete steel, - The justice of my quarrel.