-
My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns,Shall with their goat feet dance the antic hay.
Christopher Marlowe -
Confess and be hanged.
Christopher Marlowe
-
And let these tears, distilling from mine eyes,Be proof of my grief and innocency.
Christopher Marlowe -
All places are alike, and every earth is fit for burial.
Christopher Marlowe -
All women are ambitious naturally.
Christopher Marlowe -
He that loves pleasure, must for pleasure fall.
Christopher Marlowe -
My swelling heart for very anger breaks.
Christopher Marlowe -
Let Earth and Heaven his timeless death deplore,For both their worths shall equal him no more.
Christopher Marlowe
-
And thus methinks should men of judgment frameTheir means of traffic from the vulgar trade,And, as their wealth increaseth, so incloseInfinite riches in a little room.
Christopher Marlowe -
When all the world dissolves,And every creature shall be purified,All places shall be hell that are not heaven.
Christopher Marlowe -
I'm armed with more than complete steel, - The justice of my quarrel.
Christopher Marlowe -
I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance.
Christopher Marlowe -
Live and die in Aristotle's works.
Christopher Marlowe -
That perfect bliss and sole felicity, the sweet fruition of an earthly crown.
Christopher Marlowe
-
Accursed be he that first invented war.
Christopher Marlowe -
It lies not in our power to love or hate,For will in us is overruled by fate.
Christopher Marlowe -
Love always makes those eloquent that have it.
Christopher Marlowe -
O, thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.
Christopher Marlowe -
Now will I show myself to have more of the serpent than the dove; that is, more knave than fool.
Christopher Marlowe -
Thou hast committed-Fornication: but that was in another country;And besides, the wench is dead.
Christopher Marlowe
-
ReligionHides many mischiefs from suspicion.
Christopher Marlowe -
You sons of care, companions of my course!
Christopher Marlowe -
Time passeth swift away;Our life is frail, and we may die to-day.
Christopher Marlowe -
So, march away; and let due praise be givenNeither to fate nor fortune, but to Heaven.
Christopher Marlowe