T.S. Eliot Quotes
Do I dare disturb the universe?
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land.
In my end is my beginning.
We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
I prepare to meet my maker and answer in the highest court for the good I have not done.
The last temptation is the greatest treason: To do the right deed for the wrong reason.
The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
Home is where one starts from.
Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.
Anxiety is the handmaiden of creativity.
What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The communication of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Every moment is a fresh beginning.
To do the useful thing, to say the courageous thing, to contemplate the beautiful thing: that is enough for one man’s life.
Only through time time is conquered.
I explore the dark in order to find the light.
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality.
The journey, not the destination, matters.
Nothing is lost. In faith, all things are possible.
Hell is oneself.
To hope, to dream, to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
The still point of the turning world.
The end is where we start from.
We must be still and still moving.
I said to my soul, be still.
The greatest poet of our time is silent.
Love is most nearly itself when it is hidden.
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
If you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?
I walk among the ruins of time, seeking not answers but questions.
In the room, the women come and go talking of Michelangelo.
To pray is to listen to the knocking at the door.
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.
What we call our despair is often our hidden wish to live another life.
Words strain, crack and sometimes break, under the burden, under the tension, slip, slide, perish, decay with imprecision, will not stay in place.
Teach us to care and not to care.
I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
The only wisdom we can hope to acquire is the wisdom of humility.
Time present and time past, are both perhaps present in time future.
I’ve measured out my life with coffee spoons.
And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
I touch you with the delicate tongs of metaphor.
The world ends with you and me.
Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do.
It is in our idleness that we find our true selves.
The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.