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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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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