That perfect bliss and sole felicity, the sweet fruition of an earthly crown.
We control fifty percent of a relationship. We influence one hundred percent of it.
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.
Our swords shall play the orators for us.
Strike up the drum and march courageously.