And I have known the eyes already, known them all –
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways ?
And how should I presume ?
T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, 1920