Nothing Violent, Oft Have I Heard Tell,

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

Confess And Be Hanged.

Had I As Many Souls As There Be Stars, I'd Give Them All For Mephistopheles!

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.

All Women Are Ambitious Naturallie