He tries to picture how it will end, with an empty baseball field, a dark factory, and then over a brook in a dirt road, he doesn't know. He pictures a huge vacant field of cinders and his heart goes hollow.
- John Updike
Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is—Love, forgive us!—cinders, ashes, dust. Love in a palace is perhaps at last More grievous torment than a hermit's fast.