click on the green here
ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’entrate (Dante’s Inferno)
For the name of the slough is despond, where the glass is always empty, and all round is heard wailing and gnashing of teeth
“’There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes where life is not painful” (Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet)
“Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall,
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.
With a thousand pains that vision’s face was grained”
(Wilfred Owen, Strange Meeting)
“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is
To have a thankless child! Away, away!”
“new torments and new tormented souls I see around me wherever I move, and howsoever I turn, and wherever I gaze” (Dante’s Inferno)
“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.” (Macbeth)
“Beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror” (Rilke)
“Sick in head and sick in heart,
Sick in each and every part.
And yet sicker art thou still
For thinking that thou art not ill”
About suffering, they were never wrong, the old masters of torture. For never mind the rack and the medieval instruments. Deep in Warwick castle there’s a dark dungeon. And in that dark dungeon, there’s a darker place still, an oubliette, a tiny pit barely long enough for a man to lie cramped, his every bone aching, and knowing only that there is be no hope of end to his torment; here will he lie in pain and without light until the blessed day he expires.
“When we are born, we cry that we are come
To this great stage of fools.”
“As the saying goes, in the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king, Forget about sayings, But this is not the same, Here not even the cross-eyed would be saved.” (José Saramago, Blindness)
“They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself"
“Brief and powerless is man’s life; on him and all his race the slow, sure doom falls pitiless and dark.” (Bertrand Russell)
*The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan"
“Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?”
If life’s bad enough, full of sorrow and woe
You can see what’s to come in the picture below