J. Milton – Paradise Lost

  • And that must end us; that must be our cure,

  • To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose,

  • Though full of pain, this intellectual being,

  • Those thoughts that wander through eternity,

  • To perish rather, swallowed up and lost

  • In the wide womb of uncreated night,

  • Devoid of sense and motion?

*K. Kollwitz – Whetting the Scythe

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