Love me little, love me long.
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.
All places are alike, and every earth is fit for burial.
Fools that will laugh on earth, most weep in hell.
You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute, And now and then stab, as occasion serves.
Above our life we love a steadfast friend.