Nothing violent, oft have I heard tell, can be permanent.

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.

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!

Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir'd his overthrow.

Ah fair Zenocrate, divine Zenocrate, Fair is too foul an epithet for thee.

Make me immortal with a kiss.

The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike