What Feeds Me Destroys Me.

What Art Thou Faustus, But A Man Condemned To Die?

My Men Like Satyrs Grazing On The Lawns, / Shall With Their Goat-feet Dance An Antic Hay.

The Griefs Of Private Men Are Soon Allayed, But Not Of Kings.

O Soul, Be Changed Into Little Waterdrops, / And Fall Into The Ocean, Ne'er Be Found!

I'm Armed With More Than Complete Steel, - The Justice Of My Quarrel.