black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

This love is silent.

T. S. Eliot

In my end is my beginning.
T. S. ELIOT

Beginning End Myself
Success is relative. It is what we make of the mess we have made of things.
T. S. ELIOT

Mess Success
You are the music while the music lasts.
T. S. ELIOT

Last Music Yourself
We don’t actually fear death, we fear that no one will notice our absence, that we will disappear without a trace.
T. S. ELIOT

Absence Death Fade Fear Ourselves
There’s no vocabulary For love within a family, love that’s lived in But not looked at, love within the light of which All else is seen, the love within which All other love finds speech. This love is silent.
T. S. ELIOT

Deep Family Light Love See Silence Talk
This love is silent.
T. S. ELIOT

Love One Liner Silence
The last act is the greatest treason. To do the right deed for the wrong reason.
T. S. ELIOT

Act Greatness Reason Right Wrong
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us and we drown.
T. S. ELIOT

Deep Dream Fantasy Girl Human Sea Voice Wake Up
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.
T. S. ELIOT

Evening Life Morning Myself
If you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?
T. S. ELIOT

Knowledge Yourself
Men dislike being awakened from their death in life.
T. S. ELIOT

Death Deep Life Man
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.
T. S. ELIOT

Growth Poet
It will do you no harm to find yourself ridiculous. Resign yourself to be the fool you are. We must always take risks. That is our destiny.
T. S. ELIOT

Destiny Fools Harm Ourselves Risk Yourself
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.
T. S. ELIOT

Fantasy Myself Sing Thinking
Except for the point, the still point, There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
T. S. ELIOT

Dance Exception
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
T. S. ELIOT

Myself Night Reading

This love is silent.

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This love is silent.

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