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

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be.

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

Our swords shall play the orators for us.

Why this is hell, nor am I out of it: Thinkst thou that I who saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joys of heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells In being deprived of everlasting bliss! . . . When all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified, All places shall be hell that are not heaven.

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.

I am Envy, begotten of a chimney-sweeper and an oyster-wife. I cannot read, and therefore wish all books were burnt; I am lean with seeing others eat - O that there would come a famine through all the world, that all might die, and I live alone; then thou should'st see how fat I would be! But must thou sit and I stand? Come down, with a vengeance!