What Feeds Me Destroys Me.

Faustus. [stabbing His Arm.] Lo, Mephistophilis, For Love Of Thee, I Cut Mine Arm, And With My Proper Blood Assure My Soul To Be Great Lucifer's, Chief Lord And Regent Of Perpetual Night!

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.

Fools That Will Laugh On Earth, Most Weep In Hell.

Faustus: Stay, Mephistopheles, And Tell Me, What Good Will My Soul Do Thy Lord? Mephistopheles: Enlarge His Kingdom. Faustus: Is That The Reason He Tempts Us Thus? Mephistopheles: Solamen Miseris Socios Habuisse Doloris. (it Is A Comfort To The Wretched To Have Companions In Misery)

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