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.

What feeds me destroys me.

Virtue is the fount whence honour springs.

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

That perfect bliss and sole felicity, the sweet fruition of an earthly crown.

O, thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.

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