Old men ought to be explorers Here and there does not matter We must be still and still moving Into another intensity For further union, a deeper communion Through the dark cold and the empty desolation . . . In my end is my beginning.
T.S. Eliot (1888 - 1965)
Contributed by: Zaady
Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened Into the rose garden.
Source: Four Quartets
After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think now History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions Guides us by vanities.
Source: Gerontion, 1920
Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell And the profit and loss.
Source: The Waste Land, 1922, Death by Water
These fragments I have shored against my ruins.
Source: The Waste Land, 1922, What the Thunder Said
Uncorseted, her friendly bust Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.
Source: Whispers of Immortality, 1920
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.
Source: The Hippopotamus, 1920
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