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.

For you know only a heap of broken images

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

...the still point in a turning world.

Liberty is a different kind of pain from prison.

The greatness of literature cannot be determined solely by literary standards though we must remember that whether it is literature or not can be determined only by literary standards.

A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter.