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The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
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
Literature
Turns
Purpose
Ink
Turn
Blood
More quotes by T. S. Eliot
Not the intense moment Isolated, with no before and after, But a lifetime burning in every moment.
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Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought.
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I am moved by fancies that are curled, around these images and cling, the notion of some infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing.
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To country people Cows are mild, And flee from any stick they throw But I’m a timid town bred child, And all the cattle seem to know.
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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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Justice itself tends to be corrupted by political passion.
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It is impossible to design a system so perfect that no one needs to be good.
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The lot of man is ceaseless labor, Or ceaseless idleness, which is still harder.
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Only by acceptance of the past, can you alter it
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I am glad you have a Cat, but I do not believe it is So remarkable a cat as My Cat.
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The difference between being an elder statesman And posing successfully as an elder statesman Is practically negligible.
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People exercise an unconscious selection in being influenced.
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I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
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Talent imitates, genius steals.
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life is long between the desire and the spasm.
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We see the light but see not whence it comes. O Light Invisible, we glorify Thee!
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Nothing pleases people more than to go on thinking what they have always thought, and at the same time imagine that they are thinking something new and daring: it combines the advantage of security and the delight of adventure.
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But what have I, but what have I, my friend, To give you, what can you receive from me? Only the friendship and the sympathy Of one about to reach her journey's end.
T. S. Eliot
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.
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It is impossible to say just what I mean!
T. S. Eliot
