“Thine are these orbs of light and shade;Thou madest Life in man and brute;Thou madest Death; and lo, thy footIs on the skull which thou hast made.”

“Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee.”

“Villain, what hast thou done?Aaron: That which thou canst not undo.Chiron: Thou hast undone our mother.Aaron: Villain, I have done thy mother.”

“Hast thou ice that thou shalt bind itTo thy breast, and make thee deadTo thy children, to thine own spirit's pain?When the hand knows what it dares,When thine eyes look into theirs,Shalt thou keep by tears unblindedThy dividing of the slain?These be deeds Not for thee:These be things that cannot be!”

“Here must thou be, O man,Strength to thyself — no helper hast thou here —Here keepest thou thy individual state:No other can divide with thee this work,No secondary hand can interveneTo fashion this ability. 'Tis thine,The prime and vital principle is thineIn the recesses of thy nature, farFrom any reach of outward fellowship,Else 'tis not thine at all.”

“How many actions most ridiculous/Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?CORIN: Into a thousand that I have forgotten.SILVIUS: O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily!/If thou remember'st not the slightest folly/That ever love did make thee run into,/Thou hast not loved:/Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,/Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,/Thou hast not loved...”