Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell And the profit and loss.
T.S. Eliot (1888 - 1965)
Source: The Waste Land, 1922, Death by Water
Contributed by: Zaady
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.
And indeed there will be time To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair.
Source: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, 1917
Dayodhuam: I have heard the key Turn in the door once and turn once only We think of the key, each in his prison Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison.
An election is coming. Universal peace is declared and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry.
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.
What we call the beginning Is often the end And to make an end Is to make a new beginning. The end is where we start from.
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