Someone said, 'The dead writers are remote from us because we know so much more than they did.' Precisely, and they are that which we know.
My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. 'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. 'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? 'I never know what you are thinking. Think.
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.
Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats 5 Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10 Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.
When a great poet has lived, certain things have been done once for all, and cannot be achieved again.
Art is the escape from personality.
There is no such thing as a lost cause, because there is no such thing as a gained cause
The good poet welds his theft into a whole of feeling which is unique, utterly different from that from which it was torn; the bad poet throws it into something which has no cohesion.
Fare forward, travellers! not escaping from the past Into different lives, or into any future; You are not the same people who left that station Or who will arrive at any terminus, While the narrowing rails slide together behind you.
Playwriting gets into your blood and you can't stop it. At least not until the producers or the public tell you to.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us... and we drown.
All cases are unique and very similar to others.
The only hope, or else despair Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre - To be redeemed from fire by fire.
The fool,fixed in his folly,may think He can turn the wheel on which he turns.
Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers.
i will show you fear in a handful of dust." t.s. eliot we don't actually fear death, we fear that no one will notice our absence, that we will disappear without a trace.
Justice itself tends to be corrupted by political passion.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
Culture is the one thing that we cannot deliberately aim at. It is the product of a variety of more or less harmonious activities, each pursued for its own sake.
Writing every day is a way of keeping the engine running, and then something good may come out of it.
A good half of the effort of understanding what the Indian philosophers were after - and their subtleties make most of the great European philosophers look like schoolboys.
And indeed there will be time for the yellow smoke that slides along the street rubbing its back upon the window-panes; there will be time , there will be time to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; there will be time to murder and create, and time for all the works and days of hands that lift and drop a question on your plate; time for you and time for me, and time yet for a hundred indecisions, and for a hundred visions and revisions, before the taking of toast and tea.
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience.
In a world of fugitives the one who stays home will seem to be running away
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