The Stars Move Still, Time Runs, The

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.

Is It Not Passing Brave To Be A King And Ride In Triumph Through Persepolis?

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.

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

That Perfect Bliss And Sole Felicity, The Sweet Fruition Of An Earthly Crown.