The savvier painters rendered the star in the form of a fiery crucifix, but for we historians, we poets of consumed time, it is just the reverse: we begin on the cross, hung in our flesh like the crossed sticks of the scarecrow, and end in a highchair deciphering our cereal box, receiving the fabulous gifts of imaginary kings, and predicting an unbearable future.


William H. Gass, The Tunnel