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.

Accurst be he that first invented war.

FAUSTUS. [Stabbing his arm.] Lo, Mephistophilis, for love of thee, I cut mine arm, and with my proper blood Assure my soul to be great Lucifer's, Chief lord and regent of perpetual night!

Religion hides many mischiefs from suspicion.

You stars that reigned at my nativity, whose influence hath allotted death and hell.

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ileum?

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