100 Inspirational Quotes By T. S. Eliot, The Author Of Four Quartets
20th century Britain saw the emergence of one of the most ground-breaking poets in English literature in Thomas Stearns Eliot. An essayist, poet, publisher, playwright, literary and social critic by profession, Eliot first rose to prominence with his maiden poem, ‘The Love Story of J Alfred Prufrock’ attracted widespread attention. The poem was a masterpiece of the Modernist movement and was followed by equally successful poems including his magnum opus, ‘The Waste Land’, which became one of the most talked about poems in literary history, and others such as ‘The Hollow Men’, ‘Ash Wednesday’ and ‘Four Quartets’. It was for his outstanding contribution to modern day poetry that Eliot received the prestigious Nobel Prize in Literature. Most of his poems articulated the disillusionment of a younger post-World War I generation with the values and conventions, both literary and social, of the Victorian era. In addition to being a renowned poet, Eliot was an important playwright, whose verse dramas include ‘Murder in the Cathedral’, ‘The Family Reunion’, and ‘The Cocktail Party’. Eliot’s brilliance at words and thoughts is equally visible in his meaningful quotes that are sure to make you ponder. This collection of quotes by T S Eliot is sure to make you view life with a new perspective!
For last year's words belong to last year's language And next year's words await another voice.
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.
To do the useful thing, to say the courageous thing, to contemplate the beautiful thing: that is enough for one man's life.
This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.
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.
Do I dare Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
Sometimes things become possible if we want them bad enough.
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
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.
The very existence of libraries affords the best evidence that we may yet have hope for the future of man
Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.
Most of the evil in this world is done by people with good intentions.
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?
There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.
What is hell? Hell is oneself. Hell is alone, the other figures in it Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from And nothing to escape to. One is always alone.
Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
You are the music while the music lasts.
Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow
If you haven’t the strength to impose your own terms upon life, then you must accept the terms it offers you.
Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.
For last year's words belong to last year's language And next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning." (Little Gidding)
Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.
Whatever you think, be sure it is what you think; whatever you want, be sure that is what you want; whatever you feel, be sure that is what you feel.
What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.
Anxiety is the handmaiden of creativity
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.
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.
