Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. ― T.S. Eliot
If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent If the unheard, unspoken Word is unspoken, unheard; Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard, The Word without a word, the Word within The world and for the world; And the light shone in darkness and Against the Word the unstilled world… Continue reading T.S. Eliot
If you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are? — T.S. Eliot
In the uncertain hour before the morning Near the ending of interminable night At the recurrent end of the unending After the dark dove with flickering tongue Had passed below the horizon of his homing While the dead leaves still rattled on like tin — T.S. Eliot, from “Little Gidding,” Four Quartets (Harcourt, 1943)
“Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman —But who… Continue reading T.S. Eliot
And every moment is a new and shocking Valuation of all we have been. We are only undeceived Of that which, deceiving, could no longer harm. — T.S. Eliot, from “East Coker” of the “Four Quartets,” The Complete Poems & Plays of T.S.Eliot (Faber & Faber Poetry, 2004)
For most of us, there is only the unattended Moment, the moment in and out of time, The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight, The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply That it is not heard at all, but you are the music While… Continue reading T.S. Eliot
Not known, because not looked for But heard, half-heard, in the stillness Between two waves of the sea. —T.S. Eliot, from “Little Gidding,” Four Quartets. (Faber & Faber 1959) Originally published 1943.
Can we only love Something created by our own imagination? Are we all in fact unloving and unlovable? Then one is alone, and if one is alone Then lover and beloved are equally unreal, And the dreamer is no more real than his dreams. —T.S. Eliot, from “The Cocktail Party,” Complete Poems and Plays.… Continue reading T.S. Eliot
This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper. — T.S. Eliot, from “The Hollow Man” (1925) Found in Collected Poems, 1909-1962. (Harcourt Brace Jovanovich; 1st edition, September 25, 1991) Originally published 1963.