Mephistopheles Quotes

Mephistopheles: Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it. Think'st thou that I, who saw the face of God And tasted the eternal joys of heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells In being deprived of everlasting bliss?

Faustus: Stay, Mephistopheles, and tell me, what good will my soul do thy lord? Mephistopheles: Enlarge his kingdom. Faustus: Is that the reason he tempts us thus? Mephistopheles: Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris. (It is a comfort to the wretched to have companions in misery.)

All theory is gray, my friend. But forever green is the tree of life.

I let him run on, this papier-maché Mephistopheles, and it seemed to me that if I tried I could poke my forefinger through him, and would find nothing inside but a little loose dirt, maybe.

I am not omniscient, but I know a lot.

I am the spirit that negates. And rightly so, for all that comes to be Deserves to perish wretchedly; 'Twere better nothing would begin. Thus everything that that your terms, sin, Destruction, evil represent— That is my proper element.

Mephistopheles: Within the bowels of these elements, Where we are tortured and remain forever. Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In 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.

Had I as many souls as there be stars, I'd give them all for Mephistopheles!

I am part of the part that once was everything, Part of the darkness which gave birth to light… Mephistopheles, from Faust.

If I wasn't a devil myself I'd give Me up to the Devil this very minute.

Hannibal at eighteen was rooting for Mephistopheles and contemptuous of Faust, but he only half-listened to the climax. He was watching and breathing Lady Murasaki...

Such sharp words,” he said. “Your tongue ought to come with a warning.” “Truth is often compared to a blade,” I said. “I question those who marvel when it pricks.

Magic is science. It’s simply a fancier term for showing people the impossible is attainable.

Faustus: «Come, I think hell’s a fable». Mephistopheles: «Ay, think so still, until experience change thy mind».

Man should not be in the service of society, society should be in the service of man. When man is in the service of society, you have a monster state, and that's what is threatening the world at this minute. ...Certainly Star Wars has a valid mythological perspective. It shows the state as a machine and asks, "Is the machine going to crush humanity or serve humanity?" Humanity comes not from the machine but from the heart. What I see in Star Wars is the same problem that Faust gives us: Mephistopheles, the machine man, can provide us with all the means, and is thus likely to determine the aims of life as well. But of course the characteristic of Faust, which makes him eligible to be saved, is that he seeks aims that are not those of the machine. Now, when Luke Skywalker unmasks his father, he is taking off the machine role that the father has played. The father was the uniform. That is power, the state role.

You may hate the truth, deny it, curse it, but the fact remains you are equally enchanted by it. Knowing the flames are hot isn’t always a deterrent from playing with fire.

When someone offers you lines like that, he must be Mephistopheles and you must be Faust. You know you shouldn't succumb to such language, but you succumb.

De la grande Mephistopheles! Yak yak!" (ডি লা গ্রান্ডি মেফিস্টোফিলিস! য়াক য়াক!)

I let him run on, this papier-mache Mephistopheles, and it seemed to me that if I tried I could poke my forefinger through him, and would find nothing inside but a little loose dirt, maybe.

THE WITCH. [dancing]. O I shall lose my wits, I fear, Do I, again, see Squire Satan here! MEPHISTOPHELES. Woman, the name offends my ear! THE WITCH. Why so? What has it done to you? MEPHISTOPHELES. It has long since to fable-books been banished; But men are none the better for it; true, The wicked one, but not the wicked ones, has vanished.

I left Mephistopheles, the angels, and the remnants of our handmade world, saying, "I choose Earth.

Faust: Nun gut wer bist du denn? Mephistopheles: Ein Theil von jener Kraft, Die stets das Böse will und stets das Gute schafft.

Dust shall he eat, and greedily, like my celebrated serpent-cousin

THE LORD. You've nothing more to say to me? You come but to complain unendingly? Is never aught right to your mind? MEPHISTOPHELES. No, Lord! All is still downright bad, I find.

If Mephistopheles climbed up the pulpit and read the Gospel, could anyone be inspired by this prayer?” huffed a newspaper of Germany’s outflanked liberals.

Men grieve [Mephistopheles] so with the days of their lamenting, [he] even hate[s] to plague them with [his] torments.

Ah. I understand now. " Mephistophele's lips twitched. "You're a lunatic." "I prefer 'unpredictable.' It's got a nicer ring to it.

A part of that Power that, always wishing for Evil, only knows how to do Good. -Mephistopheles

The great prophetic work of the modern world is Goethe’s Faust, so little appreciated among the Anglo-Saxons. Mephistopheles offers Faust unlimited knowledge and unlimited power in exchange for his soul. Modern man has accepted that bargain. . . . I believe in what the Germans term Ehrfurcht: reverence for things one cannot understand. Faust’s error was an aspiration to understand, and therefore master, things which, by God or by nature, are set beyond the human compass. He could only achieve this at the cost of making the achievement pointless. Once again, it is exactly what modern man has done.

I think you’ve broken one of my ribs. Was that really necessary? Next time you tackle me, be sure it’s in one of our bedchambers.

And which devil do you prefer? Dante's?" "No. Much too terrifying. Too medieval for my taste." "Mephistopheles?" "Not him, either. He's too pleased with himself. Too much a trickster, like a crooked lawyer ... Anyway, I never trust people who smile a lot." "What about the one in The Karamazovs?" "Petty. A civil servant with dirty nails. I suppose the devil I prefer is Milton's fallen angel.

I sit here like a monarch on his throne I've got my sceptre, but no crown to call my own -Mephistopheles

FAUST You seem to like eavesdropping. MEPHISTOPHELES I am not omniscient, but I know a lot.

I don't have a thing," Tengo said, "except my soul." "Sounds like a job for Mephistopheles," she said.

Every man is his own Mephistopheles, don’t you think?

Mephistopheles waved her off as she left. “One more woman running off with another man. I’m losing my touch.” “Have you considered you might be a Thorne in their sides?” Thomas asked. “You certainly can be a pric—” “Thomas,” I whispered harshly, pinching the inside of his elbow. “How clever,” Mephistopheles said blandly. “You’ve made my name into a pun. What other comedic brilliance will you think of next? I wish I could say I missed this”—he motioned between himself and Thomas—“but that sort of lying doesn’t pay my bills.” “Nor do the gemstones on your suits,” Thomas muttered. “Are you still jealous about my jackets?” Mephistopheles grinned. “For the love of the queen,” I said, interrupting before they really got into it.

- Maybe you're a succubus who hunts for my flesh? Or Mephistopheles, who hunts for my soul? - Oh, no! I am much worse: succubus wants body, Mephistopheles wants soul, but I want you all, with your flesh and soul!

You know? I believe this is the most precious rose I’ve ever received.” He gave me a slow, playful smile. “My magic trick was fairly impressive, too. Do you think Mephistopheles will take me on? I could practice. Actually,” he said, taking my arm in his, adjusting his gait as I moved unsteadily beside him, “we ought to do an act together. What do you think of ‘the Amazing Cressworths’? It’s got a pleasant sound to it.” “Cressworth? Did you honestly combine our names? And why does your name go first?” I stared at him out of the corner of my eye, mouth curved upward despite my best efforts. “I think the most amazing part of our act would be not lulling the audience to sleep with your wit.

Videotape When I’m at the pearly gates This will be on my videotape, my videotape Mephistopheles is just beneath and he’s reaching up to grab me This is one for the good days and i have it all here In red, blue, green Red, blue, green You are my center When I spin away Out of control on videotape On videotape On videotape On videotape This is my way of saying goodbye Because I can’t do it face to face I’m talking to you before No matter what happens now You shouldn’t be afraid Because I know today has been the most perfect day I’ve ever seen.

My one regret is that my own knowledge of European literature at that time was too shallow to inform him that there is also a poodle at the centre of Goethe’s Faust (the diabolical Mephistopheles first appears to Faust in the form of a giant, shaggy, black poodle).

I am the spirit of perpetual negation. (Mephistopheles)

Every man is his own Mephistopheles, don’t you think? If I hadn’t come along you’d have made a bargain with some other power. And you would have had your fortune, and your women, and your strawberries. All those torments I’ve made you suffer.

MEPHISTOPHELES: Note that madam! That’s Lilith. FAUST: Who? MEPHISTOPHELES: First wife to Adam. Pay attention to her lovely hair, [4120] The only adornment she need wear. When she traps a young man in her snare, She won’t soon let him from her care.

[The Devil] Mephistopheles, when he comes to Faust, testifies of himself that he desires evil, yet does only good. Well, let him do as he likes, it's quite the opposite with me. I am perhaps the only man in all of nature who loves the truth and sincerely desires good.

Hast thou, then, nothing more to mention? Com'st ever, thus, with ill intention? Find'st nothing right on earth, eternally? MEPHISTOPHELES No, Lord! I find things, there, still bad as they can be. Man's misery even to pity moves my nature; I've scarce the heart to plague the wretched creature.

The office itself was windowless and lined with shelves stuffed to the brim with books each sporting titles more Hellish than the last. Chicken Soup for the Damned Mephistopheles Money and You: Finances in Hell One Born Every Minute: A Novice Demon's Guide to Tempting Humans ...The Complete Works of Jane Austen.

Please,’” Mephistopheles added. When Harry raised a dark brow, the ringmaster elaborated. “If you bid your assistant to do something, have the courtesy of using manners. And have a care about using ‘ain’t’—it’s atrocious and distracts from your skill.” “I ain’t worried about it,” he said. “You shouldn’t be, neither. Who else can do the stunts I pull off?” He exaggeratedly glanced around. “No one, that’s who.” “You might yank rainbow-colored unicorns from purple clouds and I’d be distracted by your horrible grammar.” Mephistopheles smiled. “If not for me, do it for the poor unicorns. Magical creatures deserve proper speech.

The Lord. Hast nothing for our edification? Still thy old work of accusation? Will things on earth be never right for thee? Mephistopheles. No, Lord! I find them still as bad as bad can be. Poor souls! their miseries seem so much to please ‘em, I scarce can find it in my heart to tease ’em. The Lord. Knowest thou Faust?

I peered at her, leaning in a if to medically inspect her. "You do appear a bit pale, Miss Prescott. Does your soul feel attached to your person?

-what good for us this endless creating? / what is created - then annihilating? \ '& now IT'S PAST'!.. '" --Mephistopheles (Faust; Pt II)

Poor little Margaret, no hope for you when Faust and Mephistopheles are one.

Love he hates, hatred he loves! Iago, the Mephistopheles!

Thou supersensual sensual woer A woman leads you by the nose." —MEPHISTOPHELES.

Zur moralischen Aufklärung. —Man muß den Deutschen ihren Mephistopheles ausreden: und ihren Faust dazu. Es sind zwei moralische Vorurteile gegen den Wert der Erkenntnis.

lightning! Mephistopheles and Beelzebub!

why would Mephistopheles want a soul? What does he do with it when he gets it, of what use is it?

Mit Frauen soll man sich nie unterstehn zu scherzen." - Mephistopheles

Things had certainly come down a long way since the great days of Faust and Mephistopheles, when a man could gain all the knowledge of the universe, achieve all the ambitions of his mind and all the pleasures of the flesh for the price of his soul. Now it was a few record royalties, a few pieces of trendy furniture, a trinket to stick on your bathroom wall [...].

We do not sufficiently respect that anti-mephistoclean force which, like the mephistoclean one, threatens the balance of life: a force that constantly wishes what is good and constantly produces what is evil.

Telling women’s stories was—and would always be—Jackson’s major fictional project. As she had in The Road Through the Wall and the stories of The Lottery, with Hangsaman Jackson continued to chronicle the lives of women whose behavior does not conform to society’s expectations. Neither an obedient daughter nor a docile wife-in-training, Natalie represents every girl who does not quite fit in, who refuses to play the role that has been predetermined for her—and the tragic psychic consequences she suffers as a result. During the postwar years, Betty Friedan would later write, the image of the American woman “suffered a schizophrenic split” between the feminine housewife and the career woman: “The new feminine morality story is . . . the heroine’s victory over Mephistopheles . . . the devil inside the heroine herself.” That is precisely what happens in Hangsaman. Unfortunately, it was a story that the American public, in the process of adjusting to the changing roles of women and the family in the wake of World War II, was not yet ready to countenance.

It is not the love a man of God should feel. It is a dark, bleak, consuming love. It is a cold fire that withers me from within. A love based on lust and hunger, a love born of base instinct and animal craving. It is Mephistopheles’ love.

No one who has to live amongst men should absolutely discard any person who has his due place in the order of nature, even though he is very wicked or contemptible or ridiculous. He must accept him as an unalterable fact—unalterable, because the necessary outcome of an eternal, fundamental principle; and in bad cases he should remember the words of Mephistopheles: es muss auch solche Käuze geben[1]—there must be fools and rogues in the world. If he acts otherwise, he will be committing an injustice, and giving a challenge of life and death to the man he discards. No one can alter his own peculiar individuality, his moral character, his intellectual capacity, his temperament or physique; and if we go so far as to condemn a man from every point of view, there will be nothing left him but to engage us in deadly conflict; for we are practically allowing him the right to exist only on condition that he becomes another man—which is impossible; his nature forbids it. [Footnote

Things had certainly come down a long way since the great days of Faust and Mephistopheles, when a man could gain all the knowledge of the universe, achieve all the ambitions of his mind and all the pleasures of the flesh for the price of his soul.

If it’s a confession you’re after, I’m afraid you won’t find it here. I’ve not killed anyone or anything. Except a few mosquitoes. And I don’t feel too apologetic about that, especially after they took off with a hefty amount of blood and left wicked itching.

Blonde: A word sir, Have you got a cure For freckles? They come out all over In the summer. Mephistopheles: Ah, Summer speckles, Dotted like a tabby cat. Take an extract Of toad-tongue, Boil with frog spawn At dawn, And spread upon your skin When the moon is thin And waning.

Mephistopheles' contentious, often ambiguous relationship to Faustus is a reference to tantra just as it is to alchemy. It resembles the shifting tactics of a guru who varies his approach to his pupil in order to dissolve his resistances and prepare him for wider states of consciousness. Both Faustus and the tantric aspirant stimulate and indulge their senses under the guidance of their teachers who encourage them to have sexual encounters with women in their dreams. Both work with magical diagrams or yantras, exhibit extraordinary will, "fly" on visionary journeys, acquire powers of teleportation, invisibility, prophecy, and healing, and have ritual intercourse with women whom they visualize as goddesses. The tantrist [sic] is said to become omniscient as a result of his sacred "marriage," and Faustus produces an omniscient child in his union with the visualized Helen, or Sophia.

Oh Kay you are like a key that opens the door of my heart. Your charm crushes me. Like a clinking machete slicing my flesh thinly cutting my heart. Let you hit my neck with the longing that you create without compassion and mercy. Kay oh Kay there's no one like you in this world. Because for you, I'm a little kid who can cry for a stuffed toy. Wherever you sing, the rhythm of the music will accompany you. And let the dance floor come to you, twisting and lifting you in a dance that makes everyone crazy. Kay oh Kay you are my sickle machete. You are the dagger that stabbed my soul, you stoned me with the sweet needle of your innocent smile. You're the sweet mouth that sighs that moans that laughs that makes my soul restless. Kay oh Kay. Your sweet spit drips like the most sugary honey on my thirsty mind. I desire you from the most sordid nests, the most abominable paths and the most perverted thoughts. I want to taste the most delicious nectar of your flowers. Oh how you taint me with your fire. You trapped me with your innocence. With your nakedness that leads me astray. How you give hope that I do not have. You won a heart I didn't fight for. Kay oh Kay you are the only answer I never questioned. A destination I never expected but greeted me with joy. You are the reality that I never dreamed of but came true by itself. How do I accept you as you accept me with all the charm of your madness. Kay oh Kay my sunshine moon. You are my river and sea. Only you my eyes are fixed, only you my heart trembles. You let me be the key that enters the darkest hole of your soul. It is not in your majesty that my dreams wander, but in your intoxicating beauty. You have imprisoned my most wretched soul. Oh Kay you are my kitchen knife, my axe, my saw, my hammer, my screwdriver. You enslaved me in this unbreakable lust. I serve you like a stupid servant. A deaf and blind goat that only serves one master. You are the master of all this passion and madness. Everything I know about you is a lie. How did you deign to allow me to love someone other than you? Kay oh Kay, if truly adoring you will give me the true meaning of a poem, then how can you give me true love that you never had?

The problem of evil can be stated simply: God is omnipotent; God is perfectly good; such a God would not permit evil to exist; but we observe that evil exists; therefore God does not exist. Variations on this theme are nearly infinite. The problem is not only abstract and philosophical, of course; it is also personal and immediate. Believers tend to forget that their God takes away everything that one cares about: possessions, comforts, success, profession or craft, knowledge, friends, family and life. What kind of God is this? Any decent religion must face this question squarely, and no answer is credible that cannot be given in the face of dying children.

This is why he urges Haida, despite the banality of the world around him, to live fully and find meaning in that process where he can. Midorikawa is not Mephistopheles tempting Haida with a choice, but an arhat acting out of an abundance of compassion; his purpose—to judge from the results—is to awaken Haida to his own special ability.

Oh Kay kau seperti kunci yang membuka pintu hatiku. Pesonamu meremukkanku. Seperti golok yang berdencing mengiris ngiris dagingku memotong tipis jantungku. Biar kau tetak leherku dengan rindu yang kau ciptakan tanpa iba dan belas kasihan. Kay oh Kay tak ada yang menyerupaimu di dunia ini. Sebab bagimu, aku adalah bocah nakal yang boleh menangis demi sebuah boneka mainan. Kemana kau berlagu, irama musik kan menyertaimu. Dan biarkan lantai dansa mendatangimu, memutar dan meninggikanmu dalam tarian yang membuat semua orang tergila-gila. Kay oh Kay kau gobang pedang parang celuritku. Kau belati yang menikam nikam, kau rajam aku dengan jarum manis lugu senyumanmu. Kau mulut manis yang mendesah yang mengerang yang tertawa yang membuat jiwaku resah gelisah. Kau Kay oh Kay. Ludahmu yang manis menetes bagai madu yang paling gula di benakku yang kehausan. Kuhasratkan engkau dari sarang yang paling mesum, jalan yang paling ingkar dan pikiran yang paling lancung. Kuingin kecap nektar bungamu yang paling nikmat. Oh betapa kau nodai aku dengan apimu. Kau jerat aku dengan kepolosanmu. Dengan ketelanjanganmu yang membuatku sesat. Betapa kau memberi asa yang tak kumiliki. Kau menangkan hati yang tak kuperjuangkan. Kay oh Kay engkau satu satunya jawaban yang tak pernah kupertanyakan. Tujuan yang tak pernah aku duga tapi menyambutku dengan riang gembira. Kaulah kenyataan yang tak pernah aku mimpikan namun terwujud dengan sendirinya. Bagaimana aku menerimamu sebagaimana engkau menerimaku dengan segenap pesona kegilaanmu. Kay oh Kay rembulan matahariku. Kaulah sungai sekaligus lautku. Hanya padamu mataku tertuju, hanya padamu hatiku tergetar. Kau biarkan aku menjadi kunci yang memasuki lobang jiwamu yang paling gelap. Bukan dalam keagunganmu anganku mengembara, melainkan dalam kemolekanmu yang memabukkan. Kau telah memenjara jiwaku yang paling celaka. Oh Kay kau pisau dapurku, kapakku, gergajiku, palu obengku. Kau perbudak aku dalam nafsu tak terlerai ini. Padamu aku menghamba bagai seorang pelayan yang bodoh. Kambing tuli dan buta yang cuma mengabdi pada satu tuan. Kaulah majikan dari semua hasrat dan kedegilan ini. Semua yang aku ketahui tentangmu adalah palsu. Bagaimana engkau berkenan mengijinkan aku mencintai orang lain selain dirimu? Kay oh Kay bila sungguh memujamu akan memberiku makna hakiki sebuah puisi, lalu bagaimana engkau bisa memberiku cinta sejati yang tak pernah engkau miliki?

The devil doesn't always laugh. Sometimes, he weeps with you.

MEPHISTOPHELES: What dreary, stale employment to keep watch on a philosopher! [...] These logicians are distrustful souls. One works like a spider around their cold brains to catch them in the web of dialectic, but the result is that they kick and catch the devil in threads of their own making. They use chicanery to resist the master who taught it to them! This one uses demonstrative reason to arrive at faith, and what ruins others saves him from my claws. You are a mystical pedant who gives me more pain than did your ancestor, Faust. [...] Behold, philosophers who want at one and the same time to understand and to feel. If we let them get away with it, man will slip between our fingers quickly enough. Hola, my masters! Believe and be absurd, we agree to that; but don’t complicate it by trying both to believe and to be wise.

That is no casual thing: a special preference for Mephistopheles. He was especially fond of Mephistopheles’s line from Faust: “Everything that exists deserves to perish.”79 This is no surprise; it reflects the very thinking of the man who in letters called for the “ruthless criticism of all that exists,”80 who in the Manifesto declared that communism seeks to “abolish the present state of things,” and who at the close of the Manifesto called for “the forcible overthrow of all existing social conditions.

When Louise returned to the Aviary the others were playing the game of what character in fiction Peter Mir reminded them of. 'I think he's Mr Pickwick,' said Louise. 'Oh no! Never!' said Sefton. 'I think he's more like Prospero.' 'I think he's the Green Knight,' said Aleph. 'Come on, Moy, what do you think?' 'I think he's the Minotaur.' 'The Minotaur isn't a literary character, he's a mythical character,' Sefton objected. 'Oh really — !' 'What does Clement think?' said Aleph. 'I think he's Mephistopheles,' said Clement. 'Surely not, he's so nice!' said Louise.

I laid facts out for you, Miss Wadsworth. You assumed I meant lover. You assumed he was untrustworthy, simply because of our professions. Your prejudice interfered with your ability to inquire further, to ask more specific questions, to separate fact from the fiction of your mind. You had the opportunity to clear everything up; I would not have lied to you. That was a choice you made, and did I benefit from it? Of course I did. I make no denial of the fact I’ve used this method on people before, and I will most certainly do so in the future. If you’re angry with anyone, it ought to be yourself as well. You created an illusion of the truth you wanted to see.

if you’ll let me hijack your feed for one second, I think we could help each other. The voice was chemical-sweet, carcinogenic, a pool of oily promise cooking in a silver spoon. Its silky bravado reminded Deirdre of stories about devils and demons, about dark fae spirits feasting on firstborn children after a handshake and a trick.

Scrooge has some interesting literary ancestors. Pact-makers with the Devil didn’t start out as misers, quite the reverse. Christopher Marlowe’s late-sixteenth-century Doctor Faustus sells his body and soul to Mephistopheles with a loan document signed in blood, collection due in twenty-four years, but he doesn’t do it cheaply. He has a magnificent wish list, which contains just about everything you can read about today in luxury magazines for gentlemen. Faust wants to travel; he wants to be very, very rich; he wants knowledge; he wants power; he wants to get back at his enemies; and he wants sex with a facsimile of Helen of Troy. Helen of Troy isn’t called that in the luxury men’s magazines, she has other names, but it’s the same sort of thing: a woman so beautiful she doesn’t exist, or, worse, may be a demon in disguise. Very hot though, as they say.

He had full opportunity to learn the falsity of the maxim that the Prince of Darkness is a gentleman. Again and again he felt that a suave and subtle Mephistopheles with red cloak and rapier and a feather in his cap, or even a sombre tragic Satan out of Paradise Lost, would have been a welcome release from the thing he was actually doomed to watch. It was not like dealing with a wicked politician at all: it was much more like being set to guard an imbecile or a monkey or a very nasty child. What had staggered and disgusted him when it first began saying, ‘Ransom … Ransom …’ continued to disgust him every day and every hour. It showed plenty of subtlety and intelligence when talking to the Lady; but Ransom soon perceived that it regarded intelligence simply and solely as a weapon, which it had no more wish to employ in its off-duty hours than a soldier has to do bayonet practice when he is on leave. Thought was for it a device necessary to certain ends, but thought in itself did not interest it.

A good literary example of such a man is Faust at the beginning of the tragedy. The other components of his personality approach him in the shape of the poodle, and later as Mephistopheles. Although Mephistopheles, as is perfectly clear from many of his associations, also represents the sexual complex, it would in my view be a mistake to explain him as a split-off complex and declare that he is nothing but repressed sexuality. This explanation is too narrow, because Mephistopheles is far more than sexuality—he is also power; in fact, he is practically the whole life of Faust, barring that part of it which is taken up with thinking and research. The result of the pact with the devil makes this very evident. What undreamt-of possibilities of power unfold themselves before the rejuvenated Faust! The correct explanation, therefore, would seem to be that Faust identified with one function and got split off as Mephistopheles from his personality as a whole. Subsequently, Wagner the thinker also gets split off from Faust.

Most of us remember Retzsch's drawing of destiny in the shape of Mephistopheles playing at chess with man for his soul, a game in which we may imagine the clever adversary making a feint of unintended moves so as to set the beguiled mortal on carrying his defensive pieces away from the true point of attack. The fiend makes preparation his favorite object of mockery, that he may fatally persuade us against our taking out waterproofs when he is well aware the sky is going to clear, foreseeing that the imbecile will turn this delusion into a prejudice against waterproofs instead of giving a closer study to the weather-signs. It is a peculiar test of a man's metal when, after he has painfully adjusted himself to what seems a wise provision, he finds all his mental precaution a little beside the mark, and his excellent intentions no better than miscalculated dovetails, accurately cut from a wrong starting-point. His magnanimity has got itself ready to meet misbehavior, and finds quite a different call upon it. Something of this kind happened to Deronda.

It is hard to imagine a story more sympathetic to mere mortals. If God Himself experiences doubts in the midst of His self-imposed agony, how could we mere humans not fall prey to the same failing? And it is possible that it was compassion that was driving the antinatalist Benatar’s position. I saw no evidence that Benatar was malevolent in any obvious manner. He appeared to truly believe—in a manner I found reminiscent of Goethe’s Mephistopheles—that the combination of consciousness, vulnerability, and mortality is so dire that there is simply no moral excuse for its continuance. Now, it is entirely possible that Mephistopheles’s opinion is not to be trusted. Since he is Satan himself, there is no reason to assume that the argument he puts forward to justify his adversarial stance toward Being is valid, or even that he himself truly believes it. And perhaps the same was true of Benatar, who was and is no doubt prey to the frailties that characterize each of us (and that certainly includes me, despite the stance I took in opposition to him). But I believed then and still firmly believe now that the consequences of his self-negating position are simply too dire. It leads directly to an antilife or even an anti-Being nihilism so profound that its manifestation could not help but exaggerate and amplify the destructive consequences of existence that are already the focus of the hypothetically compassionate antinatalists themselves (and I am not being sarcastic or cynical about the existence of that compassion, misplaced though I believe it to be).

Yet “the danger is great,”55 as Mephistopheles says, for these depths fascinate. When the libido leaves the bright upper world, whether from choice, or from inertia, or from fate, it sinks back into its own depths, into the source from which it originally flowed, and returns to the point of cleavage, the navel, where it first entered the body. This point of cleavage is called the mother, because from her the current of life reached us. Whenever some great work is to be accomplished, before which a man recoils, doubtful of his strength, his libido streams back to the fountainhead—and that is the dangerous moment when the issue hangs between annihilation and new life. For if the libido gets stuck in the wonderland of this inner world,56 then for the upper world man is nothing but a shadow, he is alrof the unconscious to be eady moribund or at least seriously ill. But if the libido manages to tear itself loose and force its way up again, something like a miracle happens: the journey to the underworld was a plunge into the fountain of youth, and the libido, apparently dead, wakes to renewed fruitfulness. This idea is illustrated in an Indian myth: Vishnu sank into a profound trance, and in his slumber brought forth Brahma, who, enthroned on a lotus, rose out of Vishnu’s navel, bringing with him the Vedas (pl. XLVIa), which he diligently read. (Birth of creative thought from introversion.) But through Vishnu’s ecstatic absentmindedness a mighty flood came upon the world. (Devouring and destruction of the world through introversion.) Taking advantage of the general confusion, a demon stole the Vedas and hid them in the depths. Brahma then roused Vishnu, who, changing himself into a fish (pl. XLVII), plunged into the flood, fought the demon, conquered him, and recaptured the Vedas.

коли проходить орґія, я почуваю, що тепер знаю й люблю її. І раз питаюся її: що таке любов? Вона відповідає: це те, коли ніщо не існує, окрім його. Значить, вона ще не любить мене. І знов згодом задаю їй те саме питання. Вона каже: любов — це страх загубити. Ні, й тепер вона ще не знає, що таке любов. І от, нарешті, вона сама каже мені: «Як дивно: я люблю світ, я люблю людей так, як ніколи не любила. Від чого ця жалість у мене, і зворушення, і така хороша печаль? Я вже не боюсь загубити тебе, бо це ж неможливо, правда? Ми так вросли одне в одного, що я вже не розумію слова «загубити». Кого загубити?. «Себе?» Тоді я бачу, що вона знає, що таке любов. Тепер ми не можемо ні загубити, ні звязати себе. І тоді ми входимо у світ обновлені, злиті в одному. Тепер ми муж і жона. ... Важна суть, а не форма. Суть же — це співаючі сили, танцююча кров, жадоба за пануванням над усім світом, одважність, нахабність, безмежність юнацтва. А форма все, що хоч: вірші, революція, кохання, верстат. ... Я теж хляпаю його по плечах і, сміючись, одповідаю якоюсь дурницею. Коли сходяться двоє, що хляпають по плечах, то той, що хляпає дужче й певніще, займає пануюче становище. А в другого з'являється запобігливе підхіхікування. ... Між иншим, у мене не перестає що-разу, як бачу її, ворушитись бажання зробити щонебудь таке, щоб умочити цю праведницю в гріх. От як би, наприклад, шикарно одягти її, напоїти, оточити сластолюбними масними пиками й подивитись тоді, що в неї там за сею непорушною шкаралющою святости. Мені чогось раз-у-раз здається, що там повинен сидіти звір. ... Як мало женщині треба для того, щоб стати жінкою: — поспати з мужчиною в однім ліжку. Цього досить!... ... Через що така наївна несправедливість — упадання перед матіррю, що любить свою дитину? Хиба не сама мати повинна дякувати за те, що їй дано любити, дано носити в собі стільки ласки, стільки живої трівоги, гордощів, пестощів, здатности віддати себе на катування? ... ти невірно обґрунтовуєш свої підозріння. Ти не докопуєшся в них правди, а догоджаєш їм. Я маю нахил думати, що ти навіть почуваєш якусь хвору насолоду від них, гірку, болючу… ... Я з досадою стежу за нею й думаю: через що це старі парубки та дівки такі хоробливо охайні? ... В мене знову з'являється бажання струснути цю застиглу незайманість, занепокоїти самовпевнену святість, внести нелад у ці точні рухи, слова, мисочки, статуетки.

— Яка ж ця дійсна мораль? — Така, Олександро Михайлівно, яка не потребує ні заповідей, ні людських законів, ні тюрем, ні панів адвокатів; така, на підставі якої мати любить своїх дітей, мужчину тягне до женщини, і навпаки; на підставі якої ми живемо громадою, а не поодиноко, на підставі якої революціонер іде на смертну кару… Хиба є заповідь: «Мати хай любить свою дитину»?! Або: «Забороняється жити поодиноко»?! В таких заповідях немає ніякої потреби, бо це є вищі заповіді, яких нарушення далеко краще, ніж у людських, передбачив вищий закон природи. Там немає присудів «по снисхожденію». Винен і край! ... Уявіть: ви мати, ви маєте діти, частинки вашої істоти, що таємним, дивним способом продовжують ваше життя. Та не тільки ваше, а всього людства. Та це ж непохитний, абсолютний закон природи! Хай загинуть усі людські закони, всі правила, заповіді; хай щезне культура, слово, думка, а цей закон існуватиме, поки буде на світі хоч одна пара людей! І бійтесь нарушити цей закон, Олександро Михайлівно! Життя багато прощає, але цього не прощає ніколи. І ви мусите його виконати! Так, мусите, Олександро Михайлівно! Мусите відкинути дурні моралі і сказати собі: хочу бути матіррю, хочу передати в будуче переданий мені з минулого тисячеліттями святий вогонь. Чи «законний», чи «незаконний», свій, чи чужий, але в мене мусить бути чоловік, вільно вибраний мною, батько моїх дітей, стародавній, споконвічний приятель і товариш мій. От як вам треба говорити! І власне, вам, бо ви можете вибірати, бо ви гарні, розумні, незалежні. ... Що ж таке моральність? Моральність це рожева пудра на законах природи. Шапочка вважає неморальним боронити Кубешку. Але боронити закони сильних і пануючих — річ нормальна й моральна, бо вона санкціонована тисячолітньою верствою пудри — пануючою мораллю. Чоловіка своєї сестри, який служить у банку, де робляться ріжні шахрайські операції, який годується з цих операцій і, мабуть, сам бере в них участь, — вона й обнімає, й цілує. Сотням шахраїв, паразитів, грабіжників, але припудрених їхнім законом, вона подає руку. А одному через щось висловлює огиду та зневагу. Через те припудрені так гаряче й боронять пудру, яка помагає їм тримати дурнів у руках. Моральність — це стіна, яку вивели припудрені між основними законами життя й вищим його проявом — розумом. Увесь моральний поступ людськости є в тому, що люде по камінчику стараються знищити цю свою власну стіну. Але припудрені, з свого боку, дбайливо бережуть її, при чому їм ретельно допомагають дурні, яких вони доять. У моральному розумінні соціялізм є скасування стіни, приведення людини до вищої, природної одности, є поєднання законів природи з розумом. Але з яким трагікомічним старанням багато сучасних соціялістів підтримує цілість стіни припудрених! ... — А що таке «чесність», «нечесність»? Плід людської глупоти, лицемірства й поганого соціяльного ладу… ... Все дурниця: і мораль, і кохання, й життя, є тільки — сам біль. Та ще хиба смерть. Через кілька десятків літ і я, й Шапочка, й міліони чесних і нечесних, розумних і дурних, рабів і панів, усі будемо лежати в землі і гнити. Чи варто ж ради такої коротенької хвилини хвилюватися, соромитись, виправдуватись? Рятуйся, хто може! От єдиний справедливий закон! ... Як це погано, паршивенько, шаблонно: коли мужчину образить кохана жінка, він починає пити й виробляти бешкети; коли жінка ображена, вона зараз же спішить зрадити його з иншим мужчиною.

We were a motley crowd. His Majesty’s Life Guards and Royal Horse Guards jostled along in their army trucks beside the Bedouin of the Arab Legion - Glubb’s Desert Patrol, swathed in garish robes, who raced about in light trucks armed with Lewis guns. We even embraced eight Royal Air Force armoured cars. Tough stuff, these boys. They had left Sidi Barrani in the Western Desert on Thursday and were reported in action against the Iraqi guerrillas at Rutbah on Saturday, a thousand miles away. They were all rogues, God bless them, for whom the War had come as an eleventh hour reprieve. They were the sort of men to whom legend clung like the cloak of Mephistopheles.

Pride,” he said. I frowned at them. “Come again.” “My name is Pride,” he said. His voice was a touch apologetic as if he weren’t too happy with it, either. I wondered if Mephistopheles was so adamant about his name because only a bold front would make it work at all. I wanted to ask if their mother hadn’t liked them, but resisted. I turned to Micah. I gave him a look that I hoped said clearly, These are the best of the five? “One of the other gold tigers is named Envy,” Micah said, face as empty as he could make it.

The smile he gave me in reply would have made the fortune of a Thespian Mephistopheles.

Speer’s moral corruption had its seed in his emotional attachment to Hitler–he likened it to Faust’s fatal bargain with Mephistopheles. Achievement and success rooting it ever deeper over the years, he lived–almost addictively–in an increasingly vicious cycle of need and dependence.

The well was now belching smoke, illuminated from some hellfire below, and for one breathless moment Boswell was reminded of Faust, and the hush that descends before Mephistopheles himself emerges from a hidden trapdoor centre stage.

Mephistopheles replied, “I am the spirit who always denies!

Lyceum Theatre. The reviewer for the Times noted that the redskins had been "greatly scared at its horror" as they watched the show unfold from their boxes. Henry Irving played Mephistopheles,

Sertürner made an astonishing discovery: he succeeded in isolating morphine, the crucial alkaloid in opium, a kind of pharmacological Mephistopheles that instantly magics pain away.

For the commission to do a great building, I would have sold my soul like Faust. Now I had found my Mephistopheles. He seemed no less engaging than Goethe's.

Why did thee call that hell-goat Mephistopheles?” asked McTavish one day.

Mephistopheles: Over! A stupid word. How so over? Over and pure nothing: completely the same thing! “It’s over now!” What’s that supposed to mean? It’s as good as if it never was.

Literally sold his soul? Like, ‘Devil Went Down to Georgia,’ Robert Johnson at the crossroads—” “Like Mephistopheles and your namesake, or the violinist Niccolò Paganini, or the Rolling Stones, yes, exactly.” She paused. “Forget I said that last one.

As to the differences, textual differences occur in all of the five acts but the preponderance of additions lie in Act III. In the B text, Act III is far longer and becomes a rather concentrated anti-Catholic, anti-Papist tract – which in and of itself isn’t terribly surprising in the Protestant hotbed that England had become under Elizabeth. Faustus and Mephistopheles travel to Rome and observe the Pope, his cardinals, bishops and friars acting like scandalously greedy buffoons. It must have been a real crowd-pleaser in its day.

broad sense, let me say, however, that the similarities far outweigh the differences. In both, our Doctor Faustus summons the demon Mephistopheles from the underworld and strikes a pact to have twenty-four years on Earth with Mephistopheles as his personal servant. In exchange he gives his soul over to Lucifer as payment and damns himself to an eternity in Hell. At the end of these twenty-four rather excellent and sinful years, though filled with fear and remorse, there’s nothing Faustus can do to alter his fate. He’s torn limb from limb and his soul is carried off to Hell.

— Через що інтеліґентні люде не вживають розуму на щонебудь инше, як принципіяльні суперечки та голі теорії? Наприклад, така річ, як шлюб. Як шаблонно, без розуму і, в суті, жахливо складають інтеліґенти своє родинне життя! ... ми, інтеліґенти, вміємо тільки теоретизувати, а проводити в життя, в діло, наших теорій ми не любимо й не можемо. Ми знаємо й бачимо, що дідівський спосіб творення шлюбу постарівся, що ми переросли його, що він шкідливий для нас, що він нас тисне й калічить, як пляшка, в якій хтонебудь захотів би викохати диню… ... Творити свою любов. Закоханість не є любов. Любиш те, що знаєш, чого прагнеш, про що мрієш. А любов приходить тоді, як одходить закоханість. І приходить не сама, а з нами, з нашим хотінням, волею, впертостю, гордостю. ... революціонери подібні до нічних метеликів. Бачили ви, як часом улітку ввечері вперто лізе до світла лямпи якийнебудь метелик? Його піймають і кинуть у темноту. Трошки згодом він знову летить. Знову піймають, і ще далі шпурнуть. Він спочине, збере останні сили і, хоч дуже таки помнятий брутальною рукою, знову летить. Бува, що його, нарешті, просто пристукнуть держальцем ножа або схоплять, зломлять крильця й так шпурнуть у темряву, що він уже не може прилетіти. От так, Степунче, й революціонери. Багато їх із помнятими, поломаними крильцями лежить десь у темноті й безсило прагне до світла. ... Революціонери завсіди були, є й будуть. Кожна молода, здорова, жива людина є революціонер. От ви підростете й займете наше місце. Вам помнуть крила, ви ослабнете, й ваше місце займуть молодші та дужчі за вас. ... Вони хороші жінки, але вони зроблять із дитини якенебудь дрантя себелюбне й нікчемне. — Через що? — Через те, що, крім звірячих почувань, у них нема нічого. Вони дріжать над нею, лижуть її, цілий день вовтузяться, а, в дійсности, вовтузяться для себе, а не для неї. ... Від сеї раптової свідомости мені стає моторошно, страшно, як людині, що симулюючи божевілля, почуває, що дійсно божеволіє, й що ніколи його не випустять із лікарні.

Literary theory, especially, cast its lot with a spirit of ceaseless skepticism and incessant interrogation; modeling itself on Mephistopheles in Goethe’s Faust, it was “der Geist, der stets verneint”—the spirit that always negates.