Till Swollen With Cunning, Of A Self-conceit,His Waxen Wings Did Mount Above His Reach,And, Melting,

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

Christopher Marlowe (from Dr Faustus)

“He’d fallen in love slowly and quietly, and it was a quiet sort of love, full of phrases left unsaid, laced with dreams.”

— Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Gods of Jade and Shadow

Oh, I’ll leap up to my God. Who pulls me down?

The tragedy of Doctor Faustus, Christopher Marlowe (via wholesomeobsessive)

Was this the face that lancht a thousand shippes? And burnt the toplesse Towres of Ilium? Sweete Helen, make me immortall with a kisse: Her lips suckes forth my soule, see where it flies: Come Helen, come giue mee my soule againe. Here wil I dwel, for heauen be in these lips, And all is drosse that is not Helena. I wil be Paris, and for loue of thee, Insteede of Troy shal Wertenberge be sackt, And I wil combate with weake Menelaus, And weare thy colours on my plumed Crest: Yea I wil wound Achillis in the heele, And then returne to Helen for a kisse. O thou art fairer then the euening aire, Clad in the beauty of a thousand starres, Brighter art thou then flaming Iupiter, when he appeard to haplesse Semele, More louely then the monarke of the skie In wanton Arethusaes azurde armes, And none but thou shalt be my paramour.

Christopher Marlowe, The Tragicall History of D. Faustus (1604 A text), Scene XIII.

The famous lines spoken by Faustus when encountering an apparition of Helen of Troy.

(via wholesomeobsessive)

…we cannot conceive that as we grow up our own minds will become so enlarged and elevated that we ourselves shall then regard as trifling those objects and pursuits we now so fondly cherish.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Brontë (via wholesomeobsessive)