". . . 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