In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
T. S. ELIOTSometimes things become possible if we want them bad enough.
More T. S. Eliot Quotes
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There is one who remembers the way to your door: Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.
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We had the experience but missed the meaning. And approach to the meaning restores the experience in a different form.
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Love is most nearly itself When here and now cease to matter.
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I have measured out my life in coffee spoons.
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We do not pass through the same door twice Or return to the door through which we did not pass.
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Sometimes things become possible if we want them bad enough.
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If you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?
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Time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future And time future contained in time past.
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Men dislike being awakened from their death in life.
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Unreal friendship may turn to real But real friendship, once ended, cannot be mended
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We must not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we began and to know the place for the first time.
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Where does one go from a world of insanity? Somewhere on the other side of despair.
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Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers.
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For I have known them all already, known them all—Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
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I should have been a pair of ragged claws/ Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
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Books. Cats. Life is good.
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People to whom nothing has ever happened cannot understand the unimportance of events.
T. S. ELIOT -
The last act is the greatest treason. To do the right deed for the wrong reason.
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I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
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I am moved by fancies that are curled, around these images and cling, the notion of some infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing.
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For you know only a heap of broken images
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There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet
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Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.
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I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
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In my end is my beginning.
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For last year’s words belong to last year’s language and next year’s words await another voice.
T. S. ELIOT