Quotes from T. S. Eliot

The young feel tired at the end of an action, the old at the beginning.

Here between the hither and the farther shore While time is withdrawn, consider the future And the past with an equal mind.

Only through time time is conquered

There will be time to murder and create.

Words move, music moves Only in time; but that which is only living Can only die. Words, after speech, reach Into the silence. Only by the form, the pattern, Can words or music reach The stillness.

A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter.

Because I know that time is always time and place is always place and only place. And what is actual is actual only for one time. And only for one place. I rejoice that things are as they are.

Birth copulation and death. That's all the facts when you come to brass tacks.

Business today consists in persuading crowds.

Because I know that time is always time And place is always and only place.

And indeed there will be time To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair.

Redeem the time. Redeem the unread vision of a higher dream.

Turning Wearily, as one would turn to nod goodbye to Rochefoucauld, If the street were time and he as the end of the street.

And indeed there will be time to wonder, 'Do I dare?', and 'Do I dare?

It's strange that words are so inadequate. Yet, like the asthmatic struggling for breath, so the lover must struggle for words.

Not less of love, but expanding Of love beyond desire, and so liberation From the Future as well as the past.

We shall not cease from exploring, And the end of our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.

Love compels cruelty To those who do not understand love.

It is obvious that we can no more explain a passion to a person who has never experienced it than we can explain light to the blind.

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

We know too much, and are convinced of too little. Our literature is a substitute for religion, and so is our religion.

We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together...

Love is the unfamiliar Name Behind the hands that wove The intolerable shirt of flame Which human power cannot remove.

For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.