That is no country for old men. The young In one another’s arms, birds in the trees —Those dying generations—at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unageing intellect.
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium. -- Yeats
There have been days and nights when I've looked and felt just like the guy in this picture. Cormac McCarthy's spiritual battle takes place in the West Texas desert.
