T. S. Eliot Quotes
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You are the music while the music lasts.
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For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
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This love is silent.
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No verse is free for the man who wants to do a good job....Poetry..remains one person talking to another....no poet can write a poem of amplitude unless he is the master of the prosaic.
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The soul is so far from being a monad that we have not only to interpret other souls to ourself but to interpret ourself to ourself.
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Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers.
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The soul of Man must quicken to creation.
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Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only The wind will listen.
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Wavering between the profit and the loss In this brief transit where the dreams cross The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
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Every experience is a paradox in that it means to be absolute, and yet is relative; in that it somehow always goes beyond itself and yet never escapes itself.
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The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason.
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When the whole world is running headlong towards the precipice, one who walks in the opposite direction is looked at as being crazy.
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O Light Invisible, we praise Thee! Too bright for mortal vision.
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So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
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Ash on an old man's sleeve / Is all the ash the burnt roses leave, / Dust in the air suspended / Marks the place where a story ended.
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Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.
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I had seen birth and death but had thought they were different.
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Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
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The years between fifty and seventy are the hardest. You are always being asked to do more, and you are not yet decrepit enough to turn them down.
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Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought.
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Knowledge is invariably a matter of degree: you cannot put your finger upon even the simplest datum and say this we know.
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I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope, For hope would be hope for the wrong thing.
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The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours.
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O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.