T. S. Eliot Quotes
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They say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known (I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone) Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
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Our high respect for a well read person is praise enough for literature.
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I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river Is a strong brown god-sullen, untamed and intractable.
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And the wind shall say: 'Here were decent godless people: Their only monument the asphalt road And a thousand lost golf balls.'
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Much to cast down, much to build, much to restore.
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There is one who remembers the way to your door: Life you may evade, but Death you shall not. You shall not deny the Stranger.
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There came one who spoke of the shame of Jerusalem And the holy places defiled; Peter the Hermit, scourging with words. And among his hearers were a few good men, Many who were evil, And most who were neither, Like all men in all places.
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I do not believe that any writer has ever exposed this bovarysme, the human will to see things as they are not, more clearly than Shakespeare.
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I take as metaphysical poetry that in which what is ordinarily apprehensible only by thought is brought within the grasp of feeling, or that in which what is ordinarily only felt is transformed into thought without ceasing to be feeling.
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And indeed there will be time To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair.
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To do the useful thing, to say the courageous thing, to contemplate the beautiful thing: that is enough for one man's life.
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And I have known the arms already, known them all - Arms that are braceleted and white and bare But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!It is perfume from a dress That makes me so digress?Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. And should I then presume?
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It's strange that words are so inadequate. Yet, like the asthmatic struggling for breath, so the lover must struggle for words.
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A woman drew her long black hair out tight, And fiddled whisper music on those strings, And bats with baby faces in the violet light Whistled, and beat their wings, And crawled head downward down a blackened wall.
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April is the cruellest month.
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They constantly try to escape From the darkness outside and within By dreaming of systems so perfect that no one will need to be good. But the man that is shall shadow The man that pretends to be.
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The last thing one discovers in composing a work is what to put first.
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Let these words answer For what is done, not to be done again May the judgement not be too heavy upon us
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When comparing works of art, it is important that the art itself, and not the artists, be considered.
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It's harder to confess the sin that no one believes in Than the crime that everyone can appreciate. For the crime is in relation to the law And the sin is in relation to the sinner.
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Because I know that time is always time And place is always and only place And what is actual is actual only for one time And only for one place I rejoice that things are as they are and I renounce the blessèd face
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So far as we are human, what we do must be either evil or good: so far as we do evil or good, we are human: and it is better, in a paradoxical way, to do evil than to do nothing: at least we exist.
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Light Light The visible reminder of Invisible Light.
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This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.