The wounded surgeon plies the steel That questions the distempered part; Beneath the bleeding hands we feel The sharp compassion of the… — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
The young feel tired at the end of an action, the old at the beginning. — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
It is self-evident that St. Louis affected me more deeply than any other environment has ever done. I feel that there is… — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
That is the worst moment, when you feel you have lost / The desires for all that was most desirable, / Before… — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
Tennyson and Browning are poets, and they think; but they do not feel their thought as immediately as the odour of a… — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
Art serves us best precisely at that point where it can shift our sense of what is possible, when we know more… — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
The Nobel is a ticket to one's own funeral. No one has ever done anything after he got it. — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
Dear Mother, I am getting on nicely in my work at the bank, and like it ... I want to find out something about… — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, But the faith and the love and the hope are all… — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
All significant truths are private truths. As they become public they cease to become truths; they become facts, or at best, part of the… — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
When forced to work within a strict framework, the imagination is taxed to its utmost and will produce its richest ideas. Given total freedom,… — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
Honest criticism and sensitive appreciation are directed not upon the poet but upon the poetry. — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
Desire itself is movement Not in itself desirable; Love is itself unmoving, Only the cause and end of movement, Timeless, and undesiring Except in… — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image
the ordinary man's experience is chaotic, irregular, fragmentary. [He] falls in love or reads Spinoza, and these two experiences have nothing to do with… — T. S. Eliot Copy Share Image