We are the hollow men 
We are the stuffed men 
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar 
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion
o you know what the man is saying? Do you? This is 
dialectics. It's very simple dialectics. One through 
nine, no maybes, no supposes, no fractions -- you can't 
travel in space, you can't go out into space, you know, 
without, like, you know, with fractions -- what are you 
going to land on, one quarter, three-eighths -- what are 
you going to do when you go from here to Venus or 
something -- that's dialectic physics, OK? Dialectic 
logic is there's only love and hate, you either love 
somebody or you hate them.
This is the way the fucking world ends! Look at this 
fucking shit we're in, man!