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T.S. Eliot T.S. Eliot > Quotes

T.S. Eliot quotes Showing 211-240 of 751

“I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;Her coat is one of the tabby kind,with tiger stripes and lepard spots.”
T.S. Eliot, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats
“Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning, every poem an epitaph.”
T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
“Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.”
T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and Other Poems
“Datta, dayadhvam, damyata
(Give, sympathize, control)”
T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land and Other Poems
“I said to my soul be still, and wait without hope; for hope would be hope for the wrong thing.”
T.S. Eliot
“I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love
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.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.”
T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
“Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?”
T.S. Eliot, The Complete Poems and Plays, 1909-1950
“Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall
My buried life, and Paris in the spring,
I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world
To be wonderful and youthful afterall”
T.S. Eliot, Collected Poems, 1909-1962
“My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment’s surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms”
T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland, Prufrock and Other Poems
“After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water
- The Waste Land (ll. 322-358)”
T. S. Eliot
“What the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.”
T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
“He is haunted by a demon, a demon against which he feels powerless, because in its first manifestation it has no face, no name, nothing; and the words, the poem he makes, are a kind of exorcism of this demon.”
T.S. Eliot, The Three Voices of Poetry
“No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice”
T.S. Eliot
“After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think now
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
Guides us by vanities. Think now
She gives when our attention is distracted
And what she gives, gives with such supple confusions
That the giving famishes the craving. Gives too late
What’s not believed in, or if still believed,
In memory only, reconsidered passion. Gives too soon
Into weak hands, what’s thought can be dispensed with
Till the refusal propagates a fear. Think
Neither fear nor courage saves us. Unnatural vices
Are fathered by our heroism. Virtues
Are forced upon us by our impudent crimes.
These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree.”
T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land and Other Poems
“If you will not have God (and He is a jealous God), you should pay your respects to Hitler or Stalin.”
T.S. Eliot
“Shall we ever meet again?
And who will meet again?
Meeting is for strangers.
Meeting is for those who do not know each other.”
T.S. Eliot, The Family Reunion
“At the still point, there the dance is.”
T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
“But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover--
But the cat himself knows, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.”
T.S. Eliot, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats
“Destiny waits in the hand of god, shaping the still unshapen..”
T.S. Eliot
“الثقافة هى ما تجعل الحياة جديرة بأن يحياها الإنسان.”
T.S. Eliot
“A prose that is altogether alive demands something of the reader that the ordinary novel reader is not prepared to give.”
T. S. Eliot
“not fare well, but fare forward”
T.S. Eliot
“That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?”
T.S. Eliot
“Trying to use words, and every attempt
Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,”
T. S. Eliot
“There is no method but to be very intelligent.”
T. S. Eliot
“life is long between the desire and the spasm.”
T.S. Eliot
“We might remind ourselves that criticism is as inevitable as breathing, and that we should be none the worse for articulating what passes in our minds,... for criticizing our own minds in their work of criticism.”
T.S. Eliot
“The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality.”
T S Eliot
“Time present and time past / are both perhaps present in time future.”
T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
“No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists. You cannot value him alone; you must set him, for contrast and comparison, among the dead. I mean this as a principle of aesthetic, not merely historical, criticism.”
T.S. Eliot, The Sacred Wood

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The Waste Land and Other Poems The Waste Land and Other Poems
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The Waste Land The Waste Land
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Collected Poems, 1909-1962 Collected Poems, 1909-1962
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Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats
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