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Christopher Marlowe Quote - What feeds me destroys me.

What feeds me destroys me.

Christopher Marlowe

Related Topics

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Popular Authors

Marilyn Monroe Paulo Coelho Abraham Lincoln C. S. Lewis Khalil Gibran Charlie Chaplin Gautama Buddha Isaac Newton

It lies not in our power to love or hate, for will in us is overruled by fate.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Fate Hate Love Lying Ourselves Power
Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Mom Rhyme
Things that are not at all, are never lost.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Lost Philosophy
Blood is the god of war’s rich livery.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Blood God Rich War
Virtue is the fount whence honour springs.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Born Respect Spring Virtue
O, thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Art Beautiful Fair Stars
All live to die, and rise to fall.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Death Fall Live One Liner Rise
O soul, be changed into little waterdrops, / And fall into the ocean, ne’er be found!
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Change Fall Ocean Water
Lone women, like to empty houses, perish.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Disappear Empty Lonely Woman
Where both deliberate, the love is slight: Who ever lov’d, that lov’d not at first sight?
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Couple Love See
That perfect bliss and sole felicity, the sweet fruition of an earthly crown.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Earth Nature Perfection Sweet
Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ileum?
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Burn Destruction Face Start War
Strike up the drum and march courageously.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Courage March Walk
You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute, And now and then stab, as occasion serves.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Bold Occasion Proud Service
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.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Happiness Hate Myself Poverty Respect Wealth
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

Heaven Himself Reach Wings

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