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I was trapped, with the tantalizing little square of night above me, and the warm, feminine atmosphere of the house enveloping me in its thick, feathery smothering embrace.

— Sylvia Plath

A mentally deranged and disorientated penguin heads neither towards the feeding grounds, nor back to his colony, but instead goes straight towards the mountains. The penguin is heading towards certain death.

— Narrated by Werner Herzog