Thursday, July 31, 2008
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Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, heavens conspir'd his overthrow; For, falling to a devilish exercise, And glutted now with learning's golden gifts, He surfeits upon cursed necromancy; Nothing so sweet as magic is to him, Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss: And this the man that in his study sits. : Dr. Faustus (Marlowe)
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All information, facts, opinions, interests, anger, invective, ire, sarcasm, intentioned finger pointing are my own views. they belong to no organization or member of any organization!