From W.B. Yeat s:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

But is it true now, as it has been before? Or is the reasoned voice, propelled with conviction, and tempered by reflection, muffled by the shrill of certainty? Masquerades.