T. S. Eliot quotes

April is the cruellest month, breeding / Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing / Memory and desire, stirring / Dull roots with spring rain.

This is the way the world ends / This is the way the world ends / This is the way the world ends / Not with a bang but a whimper.

For I have known them all already, known them all: / Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, / I have measured out my life with coffee spoons

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

Do I dare / Disturb the universe?

Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.

In the room the women come and go / Talking of Michelangelo.

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. / I do not think that they will sing to me.

We shall not cease from exploration / And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.