Strike Up The Drum And March Courageously.

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

Lone Women, Like To Empty Houses, Perish.

Till Swollen With Cunning, Of A Self-conceit, His Waxen Wings Did Mount Above His Reach, And, Melting, Heavens Conspir'd His Overthrow.

Accurst Be He That First Invented War.

We Control Fifty Percent Of A Relationship. We Influence One Hundred Percent Of It.