The soul of Man must quicken to creation.

Out of the formless stone, when the artist united himself with

stone,

Spring always new forms of life, from the soul of man that is

joined to the soul of stone;

Out of the meaningless practical shapes of all that is living or

lifeless

Joined with the artist’s eye, new life, new form, new colour.

Out of the sea of sound the life of music,

Out of the slimy mud of words, out of the sleet and hail of verbal

imprecisions,

Approximate thoughts and feelings, words that have taken the

place of thoughts and feelings,

There spring the perfect order of speech, and the beauty of

incantation.

– T. S. Eliot, Choruses from the Rock IX