These fragments I have shored against my ruins
T. S. ELIOTApril is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
More T. S. Eliot Quotes
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You are the music while the music lasts.
T. S. ELIOT -
Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers.
T. S. ELIOT -
For you know only a heap of broken images
T. S. ELIOT -
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, and I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, and in short, I was afraid.
T. S. ELIOT -
This is one moment, / But know that another / Shall pierce you with a sudden painful joy.
T. S. ELIOT -
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language and next year’s words await another voice.
T. S. ELIOT -
Most of the evil in this world is done by people with good intentions.
T. S. ELIOT -
music heard so deeply That it is not heard at all, but you are the music While the music lasts.
T. S. ELIOT -
I can connect Nothing with nothing
T. S. ELIOT -
There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet
T. S. ELIOT -
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.
T. S. ELIOT -
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
T. S. ELIOT -
Men dislike being awakened from their death in life.
T. S. ELIOT -
This love is silent.
T. S. ELIOT -
The last act is the greatest treason. To do the right deed for the wrong reason.
T. S. ELIOT -
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
T. S. ELIOT -
Teach us to care and not to care
T. S. ELIOT -
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
T. S. ELIOT -
Books. Cats. Life is good.
T. S. ELIOT -
Unreal friendship may turn to real But real friendship, once ended, cannot be mended
T. S. ELIOT -
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.
T. S. ELIOT -
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.
T. S. ELIOT -
Anxiety is the handmaiden of creativity
T. S. ELIOT -
Love is most nearly itself When here and now cease to matter.
T. S. ELIOT -
There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music.
T. S. ELIOT -
I learn a great deal by merely observing you, and letting you talk as long as you please, and taking note of what you do not say.
T. S. ELIOT