In the end, words are not real.
The word God is not God; neither is the word light light.
We are not made drunk by speaking of wine or by writing the word often.
Words point… but they do not embody.
Everyone makes of words what they will; words do not make them.
Like ghosts, like the hollow men, wispy and gaunt, words hang around truth, demanding to be noticed; without substance in themselves, they pretend or steal substance from others.
Words give birth to illusion – to an image of the real, but not the real itself.
So we use words for a season.
And then we don’t use words for a season, we take our leave of the chatter; for there is only the real and the true; and words do not come near.
So let everyone in the Temple be silent.
