Christopher Marlowe Quotes - Page 3

More childish valorous than manly wise.

Blood is the god of war's rich livery.

I'm armed with more than complete steel, - The justice of my quarrel.

Accurst be he that first invented war.

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.

Faustus: Stay, Mephistopheles, and tell me, what good will my soul do thy lord? Mephistopheles: Enlarge his kingdom. Faustus: Is that the reason he tempts us thus? Mephistopheles: Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris. (It is a comfort to the wretched to have companions in misery)

Live and die in Aristotle's works.

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

... when all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified, All places shall be hell that are not heaven.

Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast. What shall I do to shun the snares of death?

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

If we say that we have no sin, We deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us. Why then belike we must sin, And so consequently die. Ay, we must die an everlasting death.

All places shall be hell that are not heaven.

Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer, / Conspired against our God with Lucifer, / And are for ever damned with Lucifer.

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.

Now I will show myselfTo have more of the serpent than the dove;That is--more knave than fool.

Religion! O Diabole! Fie, I am asham'd, however that I seem, To think a word of such simple sound, Of such great matter should be made the ground.

The griefs of private men are soon allayed, But not of kings.

Love is not ful of pittie (as men say) But deaffe and cruell, where he meanes to pray.

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!

Is it not passing brave to be a King and ride in triumph through Persepolis?

Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.

Who hateth me but for my happiness? Or who is honored now but for his wealth? Rather had I, a Jew, be hated thus, Than pitied in a Christian poverty.