black
grey
blue
red
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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

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

Acceptance Past
People to whom nothing has ever happened cannot understand the unimportance of events.
T. S. ELIOT

Importance People Understand
Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
T. S. ELIOT

Humanity Reality
Whatever you think, be sure it is what you think; whatever you want, be sure that is what you want; whatever you feel, be sure that is what you feel.
T. S. ELIOT

Be Yourself Feeling Self Love Thinking
It’s not wise to violate the rules until you know how to observe them.
T. S. ELIOT

Rule See Wisdom
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
T. S. ELIOT

Myself Pieces Ruin
The visible reminder of Invisible Light.
T. S. ELIOT

God Light One Liner Prayer
I should have been a pair of ragged claws/ Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
T. S. ELIOT

Myself Sea Silence
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
T. S. ELIOT

Fear Myself Yourself
Love is most nearly itself When here and now cease to matter.
T. S. ELIOT

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

End Friendship Reality Repair
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
Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers.
T. S. ELIOT

Failure Writing
So I find words I never thought to speak In streets I never thought I should revisit When I left my body on a distant shore.
T. S. ELIOT

Body Myself Talk Thinking Word
The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
T. S. ELIOT

Ink Literature Poet Purpose
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

Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.

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Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.

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Popular Authors

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