Now I will show myself to have more of the serpent than the dove; That is–more knave than fool.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWEHell strives with grace for conquest in my breast. What shall I do to shun the snares of death?
More Christopher Marlowe Quotes
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Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
All women are ambitious naturally.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute, And now and then stab, as occasion serves.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
O soul, be changed into little waterdrops, / And fall into the ocean, ne’er be found!
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
I’m armed with more than complete steel, – The justice of my quarrel.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Nothing violent, oft have I heard tell, can be permanent.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Things that are not at all, are never lost.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Above our life we love a steadfast friend.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
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.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Fools that will laugh on earth, most weep in hell.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Where both deliberate, the love is slight: Who ever lov’d, that lov’d not at first sight?
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Accurst be he that first invented war.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
All places shall be hell that are not heaven.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Love me little, love me long.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
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.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Infinite riches in a little room.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Excess of wealth is cause of covetousness.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir’d his overthrow.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast. What shall I do to shun the snares of death?
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Virtue is the fount whence honour springs.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
My men like satyrs grazing on the lawns, / Shall with their goat-feet dance an antic hay.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
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.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
We control fifty percent of a relationship. We influence one hundred percent of it.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE -
Lone women, like to empty houses, perish.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE