Quotes by T. S. Eliot
April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory out of desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in a forgetful snow, feeding a little life with dried tubers.
Eliot, T. S.
Twentieth-century art may start with nothing, but it flourishes by virtue of its belief in itself, in the possibility of control over what seems essentially uncontrollable, in the coherence of the inchoate, and in its ability to create its own values.
Eliot, T. S.