Gordon Matta-Clark, Bronx Floors (1972)

God he's fantastic. I will never get enough of this song.

And the ghosts

they own everything

                — Graham Foust

Petőfi Sándor
So maist thou live, till like ripe Fruit thou drop
Into thy Mothers lap, or be with ease
Gatherd, not harshly pluckt, for death mature:
This is old age.

Paradise Lost, Book 11 (1674 version)

                                              Men must endure
Their going hence even as their coming hither.
Ripeness is all.

King Lear, 5.2.9–11 (Arden edition)