C Marlowe Quotes

Why, this is Hell, nor am I out of it,” Marlowe murmured. She gave me a wistful smile. “Ah, love. My usual terms. Ten years.

Andi realize[d] that there really is no place like home.

The fact that the scientist has succeeded where the magician failed has put such a wide contrast between them in popular thought that the real story of the birth of Science is misunderstood. You will even find people who write about the sixteenth century as if Magic were a medieval survival and Science the new thing that came in to sweep it away. Those who have studied the period know better. There was very little magic in the Middle Ages: the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are the high noon of magic. The serious magical endeavour and the serious scientific endeavour are twins: one was sickly and died, the other strong and throve. But they were twins. They were born of the same impulse. I allow that some (certainly not all) of the early scientists were actuated by a pure love of knowledge. But if we consider the temper of that age as a whole we can discern the impulse of which I speak. There is something which unites magic and applied science while separating both from the ‘wisdom’ of earlier ages. For the wise men of old the cardinal problem had been how to conform the soul to reality, and the solution had been knowledge, self-discipline, and virtue. For magic and applied science alike the problem is how to subdue reality to the wishes of men: the solution is a technique; and both, in the practice of this technique, are ready to do things hitherto regarded as disgusting and impious—such as digging up and mutilating the dead. If we compare the chief trumpeter of the new era (Bacon) with Marlowe's Faustus, the similarity is striking.

FAUST: Ah, Faust, hai solo un'ora di vita, poi sarai dannato per sempre. Fermatevi sfere del cielo che eternamente ruotate, che il tempo finisca e mezzanotte non venga mai. Occhio lieto della natura, sorgi, sorgi di nuovo e fai un giorno eterno, o fai che un'ora duri un anno, un mese, una settimana, un giorno, che Faust possa pentirsi e salvare l'anima. "O lente lente currite noctis equi". Le stelle ruotano, il tempo corre, l'orologio suonerà, verrà il demonio e Faust sarà dannato. Salirò fino a Dio! Chi mi trascina in basso? Guarda, il sangue di Cristo allaga il firmamento e una sola goccia mi salverebbe, metà d'una goccia. Ah, mio Cristo, non uncinarmi il cuore se nomino Cristo. Lo dirò di nuovo. Risparmiami, Lucifero. Dov'è? E' scomparso. Vedo Dio che stende il braccio e china la fronte minacciosa Montagne e colline, venite, franatemi addosso, nascondetemi all'ira terribile di Dio. No, no? Allora mi getto a capofitto nella terra: apriti, terra. No, non mi dà riparo. Stelle che regnavate alla mia nascita e che mi avete dato morte e inferno, risucchiatevi Faust come una nebbia nelle viscere di quelle nubi incinte, affinché, quando vomitate in aria, il corpo cada dalle bocche fumose ma l'anima salga al cielo. (L'orologio suona) Ah, mezz'ora è passata. Presto passerà tutta. Dio, se non vuoi avere pietà di quest'anima almeno per amore di Cristo il cui sangue mi ha riscattato, assegna un termine alla mia pena incessante: che Faust resti all'inferno mille anni, centomila, e alla fine sia salvato. Ma non c'è fine alle anime dannate. Perché non sei una creatura senz'anima? Perché la tua dev'essere immortale? Metempsicosi di Pitagora, fossi vera, l'anima mi lascerebbe, sarei mutato in una bestia bruta. Felici le bestie che morendo cedono l'anima agli elementi, ma la mia vivrà torturata in eterno. Maledetti i genitori che mi fecero! No, Faust, maledici te stesso, maledici Lucifero che ti ha privato del cielo. (L'orologio suona mezzanotte). Suona, suona! Corpo, trasformati in aria, o Lucifero ti porterà all'inferno. Anima, mùtati in piccole gocce d'acqua e cadi nell'oceano, nessuno ti trovi. (Tuono, ed entrano i diavoli) Mio Dio, mio Dio, non guardarmi così feroce! Serpi e vipere, lasciatemi vivere ancora un poco. Inferno orribile, non aprirti. Non venire, Lucifero. Brucerò i miei libri. Ah, Mefistofele. (Escono con Faust. [Escono in alto Lucifero e i diavoli]) Christopher Marlowe, La tragica storia del Dottor Faust [Atto V, Scena II]

As one of the few Marlowes to have met him before the Rebellion, during a time he was still a spare prince, Sigrid said he was arrogant of his status and prone to tantrums. A personification of the Blood of Diagon – handsome on the outside and ugly on the in-side.

As one of the few Marlowes to have met him before the Rebellion, during a time he was still a spare prince, Sigrid said he was arrogant of his status and prone to tantrums. A personification of the Blood of Diagon – handsome on the outside and ugly on the inside.

I know ‘Je m’en fous’ and ‘C’est quoi ce bordel?

Les Français ont une expression pour ça. Ces salauds-là on toujours le mot de la situation. "Partir, c'est mourir un peu.

Le travail de flic, me dit-il, presque gentiment, est un foutu problème. C'est un peu comme la politique. Il faudrait des types formidables, mais ça n'a rien qui puisse attirer des types formidables. Alors on prend ce que l'on trouve, et on arrive à des trucs comme ça.

You promise?” I asked, the outrage making my voice break. “Pinky swear and everything? How can I trust you’ll come?” Her smile disappeared. My throat squeezed shut. The edges of my vision blackened. I tried to suck down a breath, and a bolt of hot anguish struck my chest. “Don’t question my word, Elena Brandt.” Marlowe said softly. “I don’t like it.

Review of Marlowe by Goodness C Nwaogazie 2023 "One thing I loved about the story was how well the author depicted Marlowe's life, reasoning, challenges, and adventures. This story shares the obstacles and triumphs that the family experiences together with Marlowe’s involvement." "The reader can see clearly and understand how it was affected by events so much that one begins to think Marlowe is human." "I recommend this book for lovers of action or adventure books, and young adult readers ages twelve and above. It will also make a great read for fantasy readers, as it tells a unique story.

You loved once, Marvellas." Marlowe said as clear as day, and Tauria's eyes snapped open to find the blacksmith crouched halfway down the aisle, her fingers finishing a tracing she's made in crimson on the floor. Blood. Marvellas's blood. "You don't get to tear down a realm on a broken heart.