“Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast. What shall I do to shun the snares of death?”

More childish valorous than manly wise.

Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.

He must have a long spoon that eats with the devil.

Virtue is the fount whence honour springs.

Infinite riches in a little room.

Blood is the god of war’s rich livery.

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ileum?

While money doesn’t buy love, it puts you in a great bargaining position.

Accurst be he that first invented war.

What feeds me destroys me.

Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?

Had I as many souls as there be stars, I’d give them all for Mephistopheles!

Who hateth me but for my happiness? Or who is honored now but for his wealth? Rather had I, a Jew, be hated thus, Than pitied in a Christian poverty.

Where both deliberate, the love is slight: Who ever lov’d, that lov’d not at first sight?

That perfect bliss and sole felicity, the sweet fruition of an earthly crown.

There is no sin but ignorance.