When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smooths her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone.
T.S. Eliot (1888 - 1965)
Source: The Waste Land, 1922, The Fire Sermon
Contributed by: Zaady
I grow old . . . I grow old . . . I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Source: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, 1917
Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow.
Source: the hollow men, 1925
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.
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