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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.
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
Certain
Impotence
Self
Disturbing
Men
Suspicion
Love
Incapable
Esteem
Loving
Type
Fear
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A tradition without intelligence is not worth having.
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For I have known them all already, known them all— Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
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If you desire to drain to the dregs the fullest cup of scorn and hatred that a fellow human being can pour out for you, let a young mother hear you call dear baby 'it.'
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War is not a life: it is a situation, one which may neither be ignored nor accepted.
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Talent imitates, but genius steals.
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The purpose of a Christian education would not be merely to make men and women pious Christians: a system which aimed too rigidly at this end alone would become only obscurantist. A Christian education must primarily teach people to be able to think in Christian categories.
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All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance.
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No artist produces great art by a deliberate attempt to express his own personality.
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If all time is eternally present, all time is unredeemable
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There is no escape from metre there is only mastery.
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Anxiety is the hand maiden of creativity.
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No place of grace for those who avoid the Face. No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the Voice.
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No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone.
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All cases are unique and very similar to others.
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In my beginning is my end.
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All time is eternal, moving inexorably toward an end which we believe is a result of our actions, but over which our control is mere illusion.
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All dash to and fro in motor cars. Familiar with the roads and settled nowhere.
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We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us... and we drown.
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