T.S. Eliot

His laughter tinkled among the teacups.

Uncorseted, her friendly bust Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.

Friendship should be more than biting time can sever.

Hell is oneself, Hell is alone, the other figures in it, merely projections.

The definition of hell is a place where nothing connects with nothing.

The hippopotamus's day Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts; God works in a mysterious way- The Church can sleep and feed at once.

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.

I shall not want Honor in Heaven For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney And have talk with Coriolanus And other heroes of that kidney.

Hurry up, please, its time.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . . I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.