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FAUSTUS: Where are you damn’d? MEPHISTOPHILIS: In hell. FAUSTUS: How comes it, then, that thou art out of hell? MEPHISTOPHILIS: Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it: Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus
After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The crying and the shouting Prison and place and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
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And if all that is meaningless, I want to be cured Of a craving for something I cannot find And of the shame of never finding it. T.S. Eliot, The Cocktail Party
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Shall we ever meet again? And who will meet again? Meeting is for strangers. Meeting is for those who do not know each other. T.S. Eliot, The Family Reunion
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