anboco

But the Catherine Wheel shook her head. “Romance is dead, Romance is dead, Romance is dead,” she murmured. She was one of those people who think that, if you say the same thing over and over a great many times, it becomes true in the end

for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return

It is quite clear that they love each other,” said the little Page, “as clear as crystal

we must perform
The form of Faustus' fortunes, good or bad:
To patient judgments we appeal our plaud,
And speak for Faustus in his infancy.
Now is he born, his parents base of stock,
In Germany, within a town call'd Rhodes:

o soon he profits in divinity,
The fruitful plot of scholarism grac'd,
That shortly he was grac'd with doctor's name,
Excelling all whose sweet delight disputes
In heavenly matters of theology;

Till swoln with cunning,5 of a self-conceit,

heavens conspir'd his overthrow;
For, falling to a devilish exercise

Be a physician, Faustus; heap up gold,
And be eterniz'd for some wondrous cure:

Yet art thou still but Faustus, and a man.
Couldst12 thou make men13 to live eternally,
Or, being dead, raise them to life again,

Jerome's Bible, Faustus; view it well.