Hell is a city much like London — A populous and smoky city. - Percy Bysshe Shelley

As long as skies are blue, and fields are green, Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.

Are ye, two vultures sick for battle, Two scorpions under one wet stone, Two bloodless wolves whose dry throats rattle, Two crows perched on the murrained cattle, Two vipers tangled into one.

And man ... no longer now He slays the lamb that looks him in the face, And horribly devours his mangled flesh.