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Words strain, crack, and sometime break, under the burden.
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
Break
Words
Sometime
Crack
Strain
Cracks
Burden
More quotes by T. S. Eliot
No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone.
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The overwhelming pressure of mediocrity, sluggish and indomitable as a glacier, will mitigate the most violent, and depress the most exalted revolution.
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Immature poets imitate mature poets steal bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.
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That was my way of putting it-not very satisfactory: A periphrastic study in a worn-out poetical fashion, Leaving one still with the intolerable wrestle With words and meanings.
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So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
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Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.
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The communication of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
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An election is coming. Universal peace is declared and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry.
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I should have been a pair of ragged claws/ Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
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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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The bad poet is usually unconscious where he ought to be conscious, and conscious where he ought to be unconscious.
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Sometimes things become possible if we want them bad enough.
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Those who talk of the bible as a monument of English prose are merely admiring it as a monument over the grave of Christianity.
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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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In a world of fugitives the one who stays home will seem to be running away
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Not less of love, but expanding Of love beyond desire, and so liberation From the Future as well as the past.
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We learn what poetry is - if we ever learn - by reading 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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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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In my beginning is my end.
T. S. Eliot