For you know only a heap of broken images
My external sensations are no less private to myself than are my thoughts or my feelings. In either case my experience falls within my own circle, a circle closed on the outside; and, with all its elements alike, every sphere is opaque to the others which surround it. . . . In brief, regarded as an existence which appears in a soul, the whole world for each is peculiar and private to that soul.
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
This form, this face, this life living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken, the awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships.
We see the light but see not whence it comes. O Light Invisible, we glorify Thee!
And indeed there will be time for the yellow smoke that slides along the street rubbing its back upon the window-panes; there will be time , there will be time to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; there will be time to murder and create, and time for all the works and days of hands that lift and drop a question on your plate; 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 toast and tea.
And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices in the lost lilac and the lost sea voices and the weak spirit quickens to rebel for the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell quickens to recover.
Fading, fading: strength beyond hope and despair climbing the third stair. Lord, I am not worthy Lord, I am not worthy but speak the word only.
Clear the air clean the sky wash the wind take stone from stone and wash them.
For every life and every act consequence of good and evil can be shown and as in time results of many deeds are blended so good and evil in the end become confounded.
What do we live for if it is not to make life less difficult to each other.
When a poet's mind is perfectly equipped for its work, it is constantly amalgamating disparate experiences.
Only by acceptance of the past, can you alter it.
Here we go round the prickly pear At five o'clock in the morning.
Tenants of the house, Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season.
Liberty is a different kind of pain from prison.
All cases are unique and very similar to others.
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.
The dream crossed twilight between birth and dying.
I take as metaphysical poetry that in which what is ordinarily apprehensible only by thought is brought within the grasp of feeling, or that in which what is ordinarily only felt is transformed into thought without ceasing to be feeling.
Time past and time future what might have been and what has been point to one end, which is always present.
Redeem The time. Redeem The unread vision in the higher dream.
When a Cat adopts you there is nothing to be done about it except put up with it until the wind changes.
If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter
A tradition without intelligence is not worth having.
The highest form of treason to do the right thing for the wrong reason. Murder in the Cathedral
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.
An editor should tell the author his writing is better than it is. Not a lot better, a little better.
It cannot be inherited, and if you want it you must obtain it by great labor.
It seems just possible that a poem might happen to a very young man but a poem is not poetry --That is a life.
More T.S. Eliot Quotations (Based on Topics)
Time - Emotions - Life - War & Peace - Work & Career - Death & Dying - Enemy - Light - Mind - Birth - Faces - Morning - Love - Suffering - Business & Commerce - Soul - Intelligence - Present - Family - View All T.S. Eliot Quotations
More T.S. Eliot Quotations (By Book Titles)
- The Waste Land
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