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We ask only to be reassured About the noises in the cellar And the window that should not have been open
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
Cellars
Noises
Noise
Window
Open
Asks
Reassured
Cellar
More quotes by T. S. Eliot
You gave me hyacinths first a year ago They called me the hyacinth girl.' —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Od' und leer das Meer.
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The good poet welds his theft into a whole of feeling which is unique, utterly different from that from which it was torn the bad poet throws it into something which has no cohesion.
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I should have been a pair of ragged claws/ Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
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The naming of cats is a difficult matter. It isn't just one of your holiday games. You may think at first I'm mad as a hatter. When I tell you a cat must have three different names.
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Dante and Shakespeare divide the world between them. There is no third.
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The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
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He had a mind so fine that no idea could violate it
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If we really want to pray we must first learn to listen, for in the silence of the heart God speaks.
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Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow
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The only hope, or else despair Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre - To be redeemed from fire by fire.
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So first, your memory I'll jog, And say: A CAT IS NOT A DOG
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I believe the moment of birth Is when we have knowledge of death I believe the season of birth Is the season of sacrifice.
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At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless Neither from nor towards at the still point, there the dance is.
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He is haunted by a demon, a demon against which he feels powerless, because in its first manifestation it has no face, no name, nothing and the words, the poem he makes, are a kind of exorcism of this demon.
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We are not here to triumph by fighting, by strata gem, or by resistance, not to fight with beasts as men. We have fought the beast and have conquered. We have only to conquer now, by suffering. This is the easier victory.
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When a great poet has lived, certain things have been done once for all, and cannot be achieved again.
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Men have left GOD not for other gods, they say, but for no God and this has never happened before.
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At the beach - time you enjoyed wasting, is not wasted.
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Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall My buried life, and Paris in the spring, I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world To be wonderful and youthful afterall
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Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
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