Mask after mask, falling to the ground.

‘There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea.’

from The Love Song of Alfred J Prufrock, T.S. Eliot  (thanks to Paul Manship)