I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
T. S. ELIOTThere’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.
More T. S. Eliot Quotes
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Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
T. S. ELIOT -
What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
T. S. ELIOT -
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 -
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.
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 -
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 -
Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.
T. S. ELIOT -
The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
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 -
Unreal friendship may turn to real But real friendship, once ended, cannot be mended
T. S. ELIOT -
Time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future And time future contained in time past.
T. S. ELIOT -
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.
T. S. ELIOT -
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 -
Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other Who think the same thoughts without need of speech
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