Thus repulsed, our final hope is flat despair:
We must exasperate the Almighty Victor to spend all his rage;
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?

– Paradise Lost, John Milton