T. S. Eliot

“Not the intense moment Isolated, with no before and after, But a lifetime burning in every moment.”

“And last, the rending pain of re-enactment Of all that you have done, and been; the shame Of things ill done and done to others' harm Which once you took for exercise of virtue. Then fools'...”

“Someone said, 'The dead writers are remote from us because we know so much more than they did.' Precisely, and they are that which we know.”

“Where is the wisdom? We lost in knowledge Where is the wisdom we lost in knowledge? ?????”

“Except for the point, the still point, There would be no dance, and there is only the dance”

“The dripping blood our only drink, The bloody flesh our only food: In spite of which we like to think That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood-- Again, in spite of that, we call this F...”

“There is no absolute point of view from which real and ideal can be finally separated and labelled.”

“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.”

“The business of the poet is not to find new emotions, but to use the ordinary ones and, in working them up into poetry, to express feelings which are not in actual emotions at all.”

“Moving between the legs of tables and of chairs, rising or falling, grasping at kisses and toys, advancing boldly, sudden to take alarm, retreating to the corner of arm and knee, eager to be...”

“I don't believe one grows older. I think that what happens early on in life is that at a certain age one stands still and stagnates.”

“Any poet, if he is to survive beyond his 25th year, must alter; he must seek new literary influences; he will have different emotions to express.”

“Anxiety is the hand maiden of creativity.”

“April is the cruellest month.”

“We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”

“It's strange that words are so inadequate. Yet, like the asthmatic struggling for breath, so the lover must struggle for words.”

“Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a cons...”

“If you desire to drain to the dregs the fullest cup of scorn and hatred that a fellow human being can pour out for you, let a young mother hear you call dear baby 'it.'”

“This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.”

“All significant truths are private truths. As they become public they cease to become truths; they become facts, or at best, part of the public character; or at worst, catchwords.”