All Places Are Alike, And Every Earth

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.

What Feeds Me Destroys Me.

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.

Goodness Is Beauty In The Best Estate.

Hell Strives With Grace For Conquest In My Breast. What Shall I Do To Shun The Snares Of Death?