“you find a thousand remedies for boredom and an infinity of things worthy of occupying your mind throughout eternity: the moldy smell of minutes before three centuries, the secret meaning of hieroglyphs in fly-shirls; the triumphal arch of that mouse-hole; the fraying of the tapestry where your rounded and bony back rests; the gnawing sound of your heels on the marble; the sound of your powdery sneezing. . .
the soul, at last, of all the old dust of the forgotten corner of the room.
Milosz