Lone Women, Like To Empty Houses, Perish.

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)

Religion Hides Many Mischiefs From Suspicion.

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.

Nothing Violent, Oft Have I Heard Tell, Can Be Permanent.

More Childish Valorous Than Manly Wise.