At an archaeological site I saw fragments of precious vessels, well
cleaned and groomed and oiled and spoiled. And beside it I saw a heap
of discarded dust which wasn't even good for thorns and thistles to
grow on.
     I asked: What is this gray dust which has been pushed around and
sifted and tortured and then thrown away?
     I answered in my heart: This dust is people like us, who during
their lifetime lived separated from copper and gold and marble stones
and all other precious things - and they remained so in death. We are
this heap of dust, our bodies, our souls, all the words in our
mouths, all hopes.
        -- Yehuda Amichai, At an archaeological site