"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room;
So how should I presume?
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?"

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"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot