Boniteza para todos

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 gives 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 something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land: I, 19-30

Ainda é difícil admitir que agora eu gosto de Eliot, mas depois de reler The Waste Land pela enésima vez não tive escolha. Onde isso vai parar, querido Phlebas? Será que um dia vou ler Yeats e achar bom? Uh-oh. Tarde demais.

You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don't want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
(The Waste Land: II, 162-165)