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The dripping blood our only drink, The bloody flesh our only food: In spite of which we like to think That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.
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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Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
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Social Critic
St. Louis
Missouri
Thomas Stearns Eliot
Eliot
T S Eliot
Thomas Eliot
T.S. Eliot
Jesus
Bloody
Good
Spite
Think
Flesh
Thinking
Drink
Like
Blood
Food
Dripping
Call
Substantial
Sound
Friday
More quotes by T. S. Eliot
Time present and time past / are both perhaps present in time future.
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When forced to work within a strict framework, the imagination is taxed to its utmost and will produce its richest ideas. Given total freedom, the work is likely to sprawl.
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Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.
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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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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.
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The majority of mankind is lazyminded, incurious, absorbed in vanities, and tepid in emotion, and is therefore incapable of either much doubt or much faith.
T. S. Eliot
When comparing works of art, it is important that the art itself, and not the artists, be considered.
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Human kind cannot bear much reality.
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The work of creation is never without travail.
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As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill.
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Most of the trouble in the world is caused by people wanting to be important.
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Everyone's alone - or so it seems to me. They make noises, and think they are talking to each other They make faces, and think they understand each other. And I'm sure they don't. Is that a delusion?
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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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He had a mind so fine that no idea could violate it
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For you know only a heap of broken images
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Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.
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Only through time time is conquered
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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.
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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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It is impossible to say just what I mean!
T. S. Eliot
