A woman drew her long black hair out tight, And fiddled whisper music on those strings, And bats with baby faces in the violet light Whistled, and beat their wings, And crawled head downward down a blackened wall.
T. S. EliotKnowledge is invariably a matter of degree: you cannot put your finger upon even the simplest datum and say this we know.
T. S. EliotIt has frequently been said that we never desire what we think absolutely inapprehensible: it is however true that some of our sharpest agonies are those in which the object of desire is regarded as both possible and imaginary.
T. S. Eliot