Let us go then, you and I,
when the evening is spread out against the sky
like a patient etherized upon a table;
let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
the muttering retreats.
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
and sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

streets that follow like a tedious argument of insidious intent.

To lead you to an overwhelming question...

Oh do not ask, "What is it?"

Let us go and make our visit.
               

 The love song of J Alfred Prufrock - T.S. Eliot