S'io credesse chc mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa Gamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno viva alcun, s'i'odo il vero, Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo. Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question... Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?' Let us go and make our visit. (...) T.S. Eliot