Accident is design / And design is accident / In a cloud of unknowing.
Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow
For last year's words belong to last year's language And next year's words await another voice.
People to whom nothing has ever happened cannot understand the unimportance of events.
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.
The fool,fixed in his folly,may think He can turn the wheel on which he turns.
Culture is the one thing that we cannot deliberately aim at. It is the product of a variety of more or less harmonious activities, each pursued for its own sake.
Liberty is a different kind of pain from prison.
You have to risk going too far to discover just how far you can really go.
Poets in our civilization, as it exists at present, must be difficult...The poet must become more and more comprehensive, more allusive, more indirect, in order to force, to dislocate if necessary, language into its meaning.
Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other Who think the same thoughts without need of speech
No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone.
Writing every day is a way of keeping the engine running, and then something good may come out of it.
What profession is more trying than that of author? After you finish a piece of work it only seems good to you for a few weeks; or if it seems good at all you are convinced that it is the last you will be able to write; and if it seems bad you wonder whether everything you have done isn’t poor stuff really; and it is one kind of agony while you are writing, and another kind when you aren’t.
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.
Shape without form, shade without color, Paralyzed force, gesture without motion; Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom Remember us-if at all-not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men.
With out some kind of god, man is not very intresting
Tradition: how the vitality of the past enriches the life of the present.
Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats 5 Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10 Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.
Time present and time past / are both perhaps present in time future.
I hate university towns and university people, who are the same everywhere, with pregnant wives, sprawling children, many books and hideous pictures on the walls ... Oxford is very pretty, but I don't like to be dead.
Hurry up, please, its time.
If one has to earn a living, therefore, the safest occupation is that most remote from the arts.
My greatest trouble is getting the curtain up and down.
The river itself has no beginning or end. In its beginning, it is not yet the river; in the end it is no longer the river. What we call the headwaters is only a selection from among the innumerable sources which flow together to compose it. At what point in its course does the Mississippi become what the Mississippi means?
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