What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, you cannot say, or guess, for you know only a heap of broken images, where the sun beats, and the dead tree offers no shelter, the cricket no relief, and the dry stone no sound of water. Only there is shadow under this red rock. Come in under the shadow of this red rock. And I will show you more than either you're shadow at morning striding behind you or your shadow at evening rising to greet you. I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
~The Wasteland, T.S. Eliot.
Posted by Azrael Mortis
