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Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And melting heavens conspired his overthrow. Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus
He is haunted by a demon, a demon against which he feels powerless, because in its first manifestation it has no face, no name, nothing; and the words, the poem he makes, are a kind of exorcism of this demon. T.S. Eliot, The Three Voices of Poetry
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There was a door And I could not open it. I could not touch the handle. Why could I not walk out of my prison? What is hell? Hell is oneself, Hell is alone, the other figures in it Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from And nothing to Escape to. One is always alone. T.S. Eliot, The Cocktail Party
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We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far can one go. T. S. Elliot
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