“There is strange to walk in a town.  Something is strange in the faces of people who live all their lives in a town.  For their lives are full of the clock, and their eyes are blind with seeing so many wonders, and they have no pleasure of expectation or prettiness of wish.  Good things are heaped in the windows all round them, but their pockets are empty, and thus they suffer in their minds, for where they would own, now they must wish, and wishes denied soon turn to lust that shows itself in the face.  Too much to see day after day, and too much noise for peace, and too little time in a round of the clock to sit by themselves and think.”  – from How Green Was my Valley by Richard Llewellyn