Christopher Marlowe

My heart's content, and my soul's delight.

Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.

I count religion but a childish toy, And hold there is no sin but ignorance.

The ripest fruit of all, That perfect bliss and sole felicity, The sweet fruition of an earthly crown.

Let there be light, and there was light.

I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?

What is there in the world to make me fear?

I have no joy to think I shall die.

O, I'll leap up to my God! Who pulls me down?

My God, my God, look not so fierce on me!

The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike, The devil will come, and Faustus must be damned.

Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight, And burned is Apollo's laurel bough, That sometime grew within this learned man.

The world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.

I am a king, and I will reign.

I hold the Fates bound fast in iron chains, And with my hand turn Fortune's wheel about.

Virtue is the fount whence honor springs.

A god is not so glorious as a king.

The sweet fruition of an earthly crown.

I'll make you kings, and I will be your god.

The force of heaven is here, and not with you.