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The bad poet is usually unconscious where he ought to be conscious, and conscious where he ought to be unconscious.
T. S. Eliot
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T. S. Eliot
Age: 76 †
Born: 1888
Born: September 26
Died: 1965
Died: January 4
Critic
Essayist
Journalist
Literary Critic
Lyricist
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Short Story Writer
Social Critic
St. Louis
Missouri
Thomas Stearns Eliot
Eliot
T S Eliot
Thomas Eliot
T.S. Eliot
Usually
Poetry
Ought
Crafts
Unconscious
Conscious
Poet
More quotes by T. S. Eliot
Turning Wearily, as one would turn to nod goodbye to Rochefoucauld, If the street were time and he as the end of the street.
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Past art is subject to change.
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Humankind can't stand too much reality.
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The circle of our understanding is a very restricted area.
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War is not a life: it is a situation, one which may neither be ignored nor accepted.
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My greatest trouble is getting the curtain up and down.
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Every end is a beginning...And every beginning is an end.
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No scheme for a change of society can be made to appear immediately palatable, except by falsehood, until society has become so desperate that it will accept any change.
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So first, your memory I'll jog, And say: A CAT IS NOT A DOG
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It is self-evident that St. Louis affected me more deeply than any other environment has ever done. I feel that there is something in having passed one's childhood beside the big river, which is incommunicable to those people who have not. I consider myself fortunate to have been born here, rather than in Boston, or New York, or London.
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not fare well, but fare forward
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Everyone's alone - or so it seems to me. They make noises, and think they are talking to each other They make faces, and think they understand each other. And I'm sure they don't. Is that a delusion?
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The single Rose Is now the Garden Where all loves end
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To become what you are not, behave as you do not.
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In my beginning is my end.
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We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together...
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The past and future / Are conquered, and reconciled.
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So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
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If time and space, as sages say, Are things which cannot be, The sun which does not feel decay No greater is than we. So why, Love, should we ever pray To live a century? The butterfly that lives a day Has lived eternity.
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The last thing one discovers in composing a work is what to put first.
T. S. Eliot