[b]T.S. Eliot
Only by acceptance of the past, can you alter it.[/b]
So, sure, go ahead, pick any one particular version.
Someone said, ‘The dead writers are remote from us because we know so much more than they did.’ Precisely, and they are that which we know.
It does get tricky.
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience.
In the waste land as it were.
If time and space, as sages say,
Are things which cannot be,
The sun which does not feel decay
No greater is than we.
So why, Love, should we ever pray
To live a century?
The butterfly that lives a day
Has lived eternity.
Few things get more relative than time.
We ask only to be reassured
About the noises in the cellar
And the window that should not have been open
The answers being more or less the same.
Well, some of them.
Where is the Life we lost in living?
And now is certainly a good time to figure it out.