"Where is there an end of it, the soundless wailing,
The silent withering of autumn flowers
Dropping their petals and remaining motionless;
Where is there an end to the drifting wreckage,
The prayer of the bone on the beach, the unprayable
Prayer at the calamitous annunciation?"
T. S. Eliot, Quatro Quartetos, trad. Gualter Cunha, Lisboa: Relógio D'Água, 2004: pp. 58,60.
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