Your Face Tomorrow: Dance and Dream - pg. 41

To fall silent, yes silent, is the great ambition that no one achieves. No one, not even after death. It is as if nothing had stopped resonating since the very beginning, not even when we can no longer recognise or trace theliving, who are perhaps still alive, we live alert to and troubled by unnumerable voices whose origin we do not know, they are  so ditant and muffled, or have they just been dug down too deep? Perhaps they are the feeble echoes of unrecorded lives, whose cries have been seething in their impatient minds since yesterday or for centuries now: 'We were born at such a place,' they exclaim out of their infinite waiting, 'and we died at such a place.' And far worse things too.