T. S. Eliot
T. S. Eliot
Thomas Stearns Eliot OMwas an American-born British essayist, publisher, playwright, literary and social critic and "one of the twentieth century's major poets". He moved to England in 1914 at age 25, settling, working and marrying there. He was eventually naturalised as a British subject in 1927 at age 39, renouncing his American citizenship...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth26 September 1888
CountryUnited States of America
fighting expectations victory
We fight for lost causes because we know that our defeat and dismay may be the preface to our successors' victory, though that victory itself will be temporary; we fight rather to keep something alive than in the expectation that anything will triumph.
war reality ego
When war is not just it is subsequently justified; so it becomes many things. In reality, an unjust war is merely piracy. It consists of piracy, ego and, more than anything, money. War is our century's prostitution.
art compassion hands
The wounded surgeon plies the steel That questions the distempered part; Beneath the bleeding hands we feel The sharp compassion of the healer's art Resolving the enigma of the fever chart.
love past desire
Not less of love, but expanding Of love beyond desire, and so liberation From the Future as well as the past.
vanity doubt majority
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.
inspirational fear dust
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
social-media distraction distracted
Distracted from distraction by distraction
death poetry religion
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.
clouds design accidents
Accident is design / And design is accident / In a cloud of unknowing.
lying vision shadow
Between the vision and the act lies the shadow.
cat wind done
When a Cat adopts you there is nothing to be done about it except to put up with it until the wind changes.
blood literature ink
The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
silence enough found
Where shall the word be found, where will the word / Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence.
time please
Hurry up, please, its time.