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- Our words have wings, but fly not where we would.
George Eliot, The Spanish Gipsy
- This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper
T. S. Eliot, The Hollow Men
- Let us go then, you and I
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table . . ..
T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, 1-3,
- There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet . . . .
T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, 26-27
- I have measured out my life with coffee spoons. . . .
T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, 51
- I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, 73-74
- And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, 86-87
- The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
T. S. Eliot, Preludes, IV, 15-16
- After such knowledge, what forgiveness?
T. S. Eliot, Gerontion, 33
- Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets, "Burnt Norton," II, 20-21
- O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark . . . .
T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets, "East Coker," III, 1
- 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.
T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets, "Little Gidding," V, 26-29
- April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land,I
- HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land,II
- He who has a thousand friends
Has not a friend to spare,
While he who has one enemy
Shall meet him everywhere.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
- Life is too short to waste
In critic peep or cynic bark,
Quarrel or reprimand:
'Twill soon be dark;
Up! mind thine own aim, and
God speed the mark!
Ralph Waldo Emerson
- By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood
And fired the shot heard round the world.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Concord Hymn
- Large streams from little fountains flow,
Tall oaks from little acorns grow;
David Everett, Lines Written for a School Declamation