So the lover must struggle for words.
T. S. Eliot
The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours.
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
When the Stranger says: What is the meaning of this city ? Do you huddle close together because you love each other? What will you answer? We all dwell together To make money from each other? or This is a community?
Knowledge is invariably a matter of degree: you cannot put your finger upon even the simplest datum and say this we know.
For love would be love of the wrong thing there is yet faith, But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
This love is silent.
Where is all the knowledge we lost with information?
As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug's game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing.
A toothache, or a violent passion, is not necessarily diminished by our knowledge of its causes, its character, its importance or insignificance.
We know too much, and are convinced of too little. Our literature is a substitute for religion, and so is our religion.
Home is where one starts from.
You are the music while the music lasts.
The business of the poet is not to find new emotions, but to use the ordinary ones and, in working them up into poetry, to express feelings which are not in actual emotions at all.
It is only in the world of objects that we have time and space and selves.
Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
Poetry should help, not only to refine the language of the time, but to prevent it from changing too rapidly.
Art never improves, but... the material of art is never quite the same.
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