Quotes from T.S. Eliot

Uncorsetted, her friendly bust Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.

We have only to conquer Now, by suffering. This is the easier victory. Now is the triumph of the cross.

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless; Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is

What life have you if you have not life together? There is no life that is not in community, And no community not lived in praise of GOD.

Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; 180 Departed, have left no addresses.

A martyrdom is always the design of God, for His love of men, to warn them and to lead them, to bring them back to His ways. It is never the design of man; for the true martyr is he who has become the instrument of God, who has lost his will in the will of God, and who no longer desires anything for himself, not even the glory of being a martyr.

O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter / And on her daughter / They wash their feet in soda water.

We acknowledge our trespass, our weakness, our fault; we acknowledge That the sin of the world is upon our heads; that the blood of the martyrs and the agony of the saints Is upon our heads. Lord, have mercy upon us. Christ, have mercy upon us. Lord, have mercy upon us. Blessed Thomas, pray for us.

But time past is a time forgotten. We expect the rise of a new constellation.

Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many.

What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them.

We aim at experience in the particular centres in which alone it is evil. We avoid classification. We do not deny it. But when a man is classified something is lost.

The important fact is that for the man the act is eternal, and that for the brief space he has to live, he is already dead. He is already in a different world from ours. He has crossed the frontier. The important fact is that something is done which can not be undone-a possibility which none of us realize until we face it ourselves.

Are contented with the morning that separates And with the evening that brings together For casual talk before the fire Two people who know they do not understand each other, Breeding children whom they do not understand And who will never understand them.

There is certainly no purpose in remaining in the dark Except long enough to clear from the mind The illusion of having ever been in the light.

I don't know much about gods, but I think the river is a strong, brown god

TO MY WIFE To whom I owe the leaping delight That quickens my senses in our wakingtime And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime, The breathing in unison Of lovers … Who think the same thoughts without need of speech And babble the same speech without need of meaning: To you I dedicate this book, to return as best I can With words a little part of what you have given me. The words mean what they say, but some have a further meaning For you and me only.

Though you forget the way to the Temple, There is one who remembers the way to your door: Life you may evade, but Death you shall not. You shall not deny the Stranger.

What shall I do now? What shall I do? I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow? What shall we ever do? The hot water at ten. And if it rains, a closed car at four. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance, Admire the moments Discuss the late events, Correct our watches by the public clocks. Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks.

I decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.

Do I dare to eat a peach?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all— The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? And how should I presume?

Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question ... Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" Let us go and make our visit.