T.S. Eliot

Lady of silences Calm and distressed Torn and most whole Rose of memory Rose of forgetfulness Exhausted and life-giving Worried reposeful The single Rose Is now the Garden Where all loves end Terminate torment Of love unsatisfied The greater torment Of love satisfied End of the endless Journey to no end Conclusion of all that Is inconclusible Speech without word and Word of no speech Grace to the Mother For the Garden Where all love ends.

He laughed like an irresponsible foetus.

His laughter tinkled among the teacups.

We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Learning together.

Let us go then, you and I When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table.

To do the useful thing, to say the courageous thing, to contemplate the beautiful thing: that is enough for one man's life.

Turning Wearily, as one would turn to nod goodbye to Rochefoucauld, If the street were time and he as the end of the street.

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?

When we read of human beings behaving in certain ways, with the approval of the author, who gives his benediction to this behavior by his attitude towards the result of the behavior arranged by himself, we can be influenced towards behaving in the same way.

We know too much, and are convinced of too little. Our literature is a substitute for religion, and so is our religion.