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O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark, The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant

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
Space
Interstellar
Vacant
Spaces
Dark

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In the last few years everything I'd done up to sixty or so has seemed very childish.
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As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug's game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing.
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We can say of Shakespeare, that never has a man turned so little knowledge to such great account.
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Only through time time is conquered
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I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
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To men of a certain type The suspicion that they are incapable of loving Is as disturbing to their self-esteem As, in cruder men, the fear of impotence.
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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 bad poet is usually unconscious where he ought to be conscious, and conscious where he ought to be unconscious.
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We must learn to suffer more.
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The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason.
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All cases are unique and very similar to others.
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Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.
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Whatever you do, don't whimper, but take the consequences.
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Composing on the typewriter, I find that I am sloughing off all my long sentences which I used to dote upon. Short, staccato, like modern French prose. The typewriter makes for lucidity, but I am not sure that it encourages subtlety.
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In my beginning is my end.
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I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids Sprouting despondently at area gates.
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When the Stranger says: What is the meaning of this city? Do you huddle close together because you love each other? What will you answer? We all dwell together To make money from each other? or This is a community? Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger. Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions.
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The endless cycle of idea and action, / Endless invention, endless experiment, / Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness / Knowledge of speech, but not of silence / Knowledge of words, and ignorance of The Word.
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Shape without form, shade without color, Paralyzed force, gesture without motion Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom Remember us-if at all-not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men.
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Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow
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