All time is eternal, moving inexorably toward an end which we believe is a result of our actions, but over which our control is mere illusion.

April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.

Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think

There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.

The rats are underneath the piles/ The Jew is underneath the lot.

In a mind charged with an eager purpose and an unfinished vindictiveness, there is no room for new feelings.

There is not a more repulsive spectacle than on old man who will not forsake the world, which has already forsaken him.