“Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit,His waxen wings did mount above his reach,And melting heavens conspired his overthrow.”

“Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit,His waxen wings did mount above his reach,And, melting, Heavens conspir'd his overthrow.”

“Heaven, envious of our joys, is waxen pale; And when we whisper, then the stars fall down To be partakers of our honey talk.(Dido, Queen of Carthage 4.4.52-54)”

“From jygging vaines of riming mother wits,And such conceits as clownage keepes in pay,Weele leade you to the stately tent of War:Where you shall heare the Scythian Tamburlaine,Threatning the world with high astounding tearmsAnd scourging kingdoms with his conquering sword.View but his picture in this tragicke glasse,And then applaud his fortunes if you please.”

“That like I best that flies beyond my reach.Set me to scale the high pyramids And thereon set the diadem of France;I'll either rend it with my nails to nought,Or mount the top with my aspiring wings,Although my downfall be the deepest hell.”

“Nay, could their numbers countervail the stars,Or ever-drizzling drops of April showers,Or wither'd leaves that autumn shaketh down,Yet would the Soldan by his conquering powerSo scatter and consume them in his rage, That not a man should live to rue their fall.”

“Mephistopheles: Within the bowels of these elements,Where we are tortured and remain forever.Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribedIn one self place, for where we are is hell,And where hell is must we ever be.And, to conclude, when all the world dissolves,And every creature shall be purified,All places shall be hell that is not heaven.”