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The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart, And sang within the bloody wood When Agamemnon cried aloud, And let their liquid siftings fall To stain the stiff dishonored shroud.
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
Singing
Liquid
Shroud
Within
Sang
Sifting
Fall
Wood
Shrouds
Heart
Bloody
Nightingales
Cried
Stain
Near
Stiff
Dishonored
Woods
Aloud
Agamemnon
Sacred
Stains
Convent
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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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Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow
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We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us... and we drown.
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I do not believe that any writer has ever exposed this bovarysme, the human will to see things as they are not, more clearly than Shakespeare.
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Half of the harm that is done in this world is due to people who want to feel important. They don't mean to do harm. But the harm does not interest them.
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And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor - And this, and so much more? -
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Words strain, crack, and sometime break, under the burden.
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No place of grace for those who avoid the Face. No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the Voice.
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Where is all the knowledge we lost with information?
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Accident is design / And design is accident / In a cloud of unknowing.
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Let's not be narrow, nasty, and negative.
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Talent imitates, genius steals.
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time past and time future what might have been and what has been point to one end, which is always present.
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Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
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Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought.
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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. My Cat is a Lilliecat Hubvously. What a lilliecat it is. There never was such a Lilliecat. Its Name is JELLYORUM and its one Idea is to be Usefull!!
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A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything)
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There's no vocabulary For love within a family, love that's lived in But not looked at, love within the light of which All else is seen, the love within which All other love finds speech. This love is silent.
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I take as metaphysical poetry that in which what is ordinarily apprehensible only by thought is brought within the grasp of feeling, or that in which what is ordinarily only felt is transformed into thought without ceasing to be feeling.
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The past and future / Are conquered, and reconciled.
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