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A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter.
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
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St. Louis
Missouri
Thomas Stearns Eliot
Eliot
T S Eliot
Thomas Eliot
T.S. Eliot
Years
Cold
Way
Coming
Time
Dead
Sharp
Worst
Weather
Ways
Justice
Winter
Year
Deep
Long
Journey
More quotes by T. S. Eliot
No one can become really educated without having pursued some study in which he took no interest- for it is a part of education to learn to interest ourselves in subjects for which we have no aptitude.
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The work of creation is never without travail.
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Those who say they give the public what it wants begin by underestimating public taste and end by debauching it.
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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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The Rum Turn Tugger is a terrible bore: When you let him in, then he wants to be out He's always on the wrong side of every door, And as soon as he's at home, then he'd like to get about.
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Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other Who think the same thoughts without need of speech
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In a world of fugitives the one who stays home will seem to be running away
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Yeats was the greatest poet of our times . . . certainly the greatest in this language, and so far as I am able to judge, in any language.
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Words move, music moves Only in time but that which is only living Can only die. Words, after speech, reach Into the silence. Only by the form, the pattern, Can words or music reach The stillness.
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Talent imitates, but genius steals.
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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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No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be: am an attendant lord, one that will do to swell a progress, start a scene or two, advise the prince.
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Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair-
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It is a test (a positive test, I do not assert that it is always valid negatively), that genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.
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The historical sense compels a man to write not merely with his own generation in his bones, but with a feeling that the whole of literature from Homer and within it the whole of the literature of his own country has a simultaneous existence and composes a simultaneous order.
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Light Light The visible reminder of Invisible Light.
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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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The more perfect the artist, the more completely separate in him will be the man who suffers and the mind which creates.
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We do not quite say that the new is more valuable because it fits in but its fitting in is a test of its value - a test, it is true, which can only be slowly and cautiously applied, for we are none of us infallible judges of conformity.
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The Civil War is not ended: I question whether any serious civil war ever does end.
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