T. S. Eliot

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

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.

Humankind cannot bear very much reality.

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.

For last year's words belong to last year's language / And next year's words await another voice.

The journey, not the arrival, matters.

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.

To do the right thing for the wrong reason is the greatest treason.

Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope / For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love / For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith / But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.

The world is trying to be the world, and we are trying to be ourselves.

Home is where one starts from.

What we call the beginning is often the end / And to make an end is to make a beginning. / The end is where we start from.

Success is relative: It is what we can make of the mess we have made of things.

The communication of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

We are the hollow men / We are the stuffed men / Leaning together / Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!

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

The only way of expressing emotion in the form of art is by finding an 'objective correlative'; in other words, a set of objects, a situation, a chain of events which shall be the formula of that particular emotion.

Tradition is a matter of much wider significance. It cannot be inherited, and if you want it you must obtain it by great labour.