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Art is the escape from personality.
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
Art
Escape
Personality
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A tradition without intelligence is not worth having.
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Probably, indeed, the larger part of the labor of an author composing his work is critical labor the labor of sifting, combining, constructing, expunging, correcting, testing. This frightful toil is as much critical as creative.
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In my beginning is my end.
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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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When a great poet has lived, certain things have been done once for all, and cannot be achieved again.
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Turning Wearily, as one would turn to nod goodbye to Rochefoucauld, If the street were time and he as the end of the street.
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Success is relative. It is what we make of the mess we have made of things.
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O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark, The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant
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At the violet hour, when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives.
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But the Church cannot be, in any political sense, either conservative or liberal, or revolutionary. Conservatism is too often conservation of the wrong things: liberalism a relaxation of discipline revolution a denial of the permanent things.
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Human kind cannot bear much reality.
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When comparing works of art, it is important that the art itself, and not the artists, be considered.
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I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids Sprouting despondently at area gates.
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At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless Neither from nor towards at the still point, there the dance is.
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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.
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