black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

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

T. S. Eliot

The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
T. S. ELIOT

Ink Literature Poet Purpose
To do the useful thing, to say the courageous thing, to contemplate the beautiful thing: that is enough for one man’s life.
T. S. ELIOT

Beautiful Courage Enough Life Man
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.
T. S. ELIOT

Growth Poet
Only by acceptance of the past, can you alter it
T. S. ELIOT

Acceptance Past
Unreal friendship may turn to real But real friendship, once ended, cannot be mended
T. S. ELIOT

End Friendship Reality Repair
We do not pass through the same door twice Or return to the door through which we did not pass.
T. S. ELIOT

Philosophy Place Travel
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language and next year’s words await another voice.
T. S. ELIOT

Change Language Voice Word
People to whom nothing has ever happened cannot understand the unimportance of events.
T. S. ELIOT

Importance People Understand
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?
T. S. ELIOT

Knowledge Life Live Lost Wisdom
Time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future And time future contained in time past.
T. S. ELIOT

Past Present Science Time
The last act is the greatest treason. To do the right deed for the wrong reason.
T. S. ELIOT

Act Greatness Reason Right Wrong
I am moved by fancies that are curled, around these images and cling, the notion of some infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing.
T. S. ELIOT

Myself Photograph Suffering
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.
T. S. ELIOT

End Ourselves Place Start Time Travel
Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.
T. S. ELIOT

Garden Memories Rose
Love is most nearly itself When here and now cease to matter.
T. S. ELIOT

Deep Love
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
T. S. ELIOT

Fear Myself Yourself

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

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

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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