“All the thoughts, all the preoccupations in my head – round and round, continually What’s it for? What’s it all for? To put an end to the quiet, to break it up and disperse it, to pretend at any cost that it isn’t there. Ah, but it is; it is there, in spite of everything, at the back of everything. Lying awake at night – not restlessly, but serenely, waiting for sleep – the quiet re-establishes itself, piece by piece; all the broken bits… we’ve been so busily dispersing all day long. It re-establishes itself, an inward quiet, like the outward quiet of grass and trees. It fills one, it grows – a crystal quiet, a growing, expanding crystal. (Antic Hay 1923) – Aldous Huxley