black
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The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.

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

Change Language Voice Word
Humor is also a way of saying something serious.
T. S. ELIOT

Humor Serious
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

Fear Greatness Moments Myself See
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
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

Beyond Escape Experience
Except for the point, the still point, There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
T. S. ELIOT

Dance Exception
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

Death Desire Flower Memories Rain Season Spring
There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music.
T. S. ELIOT

Fear Feeling Grief Music
Books. Cats. Life is good.
T. S. ELIOT

Book Goodness Life
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
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.
T. S. ELIOT

Growth Poet
It’s not wise to violate the rules until you know how to observe them.
T. S. ELIOT

Rule See Wisdom
You are the music while the music lasts.
T. S. ELIOT

Last Music Yourself
music heard so deeply That it is not heard at all, but you are the music While the music lasts.
T. S. ELIOT

Deep Last Music
An election is coming. Universal peace is declared and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry.
T. S. ELIOT

Election Fake Live Peace Politics
This is one moment, / But know that another / Shall pierce you with a sudden painful joy.
T. S. ELIOT

Joy Moments Oneself Pain

The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.

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The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.

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Popular Authors

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