Infinite Riches In A Little Room.

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.

It Lies Not In Our Power To Love Or Hate, For Will In Us Is Overruled By Fate.

I Am Envy...i Cannot Read And Therefore Wish All Books Burned.

He That Loves Pleasure Must For Pleasure Fall.

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.