At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
— from Burnt Norton, T.S.Elliot
I was visiting the Picasso Ceramics exhibit (yes, Picasso did ceramics too!) at the University of Hong Kong Art Museum, and there was this lovely exhibit in the downstairs gallery about the Four Seasons. They had quoted T.S. Elliot poems on the walls, and I really loved this excerpt.