". . . there is a darkness. It

is for everyone . . . Only some Greeks

and admirers of theirs, in their

liquid noon, where the friendship

of beauty to human things was perfect,

thought they were clearly divided

from this darkness. And these

Greeks too were in it. But still

they are the admiration of the

rest of the mud-sprung, famine-

knifed, street-pounding, war-

rattled, difficult, painstaking,

kicked in the belly, grief and

cartilage mankind, the multitude,

some under a coal-sucking Vesuvius

of chaos smoke, some inside a

heaving Calcutta midnight, who

very well know where they are."

— Saul Bellow


"Why, this is Hell; nor am I

out of it."

— Christopher Marlowe

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