No place of grace for those who avoid the Face. No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the Voice.

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.

No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone.

Shape without form, shade without color, Paralyzed force, gesture without motion; Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom Remember us-if at all-not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men.

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the air The air which is now thoroughly small and dry Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still

Poetry is not an assertion of truth, but the making of that truth more fully real to us.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity, there never was a cat of such deceitfulness and sauvity.