All futurity seems teeming with endless destruction never to be repelled; Desperate remorse swallows the present in a quenchless rage. – William Blake
Nature in darkness groans and men are bound to sullen contemplation in the night: restless they turn on beds of sorrow; in their inmost brain feeling the crushing wheels, they rise, they write the bitter words of stern philosophy and knead the bread of knowledge with tears and groans. – William Blake