There Is No Sin But Ignorance.

Make Me Immortal With A Kiss.

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.

Our Swords Shall Play The Orators For Us.

All Live To Die, And Rise To Fall.

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.