The dream crossed twilight between birth and dying.

If you haven’t the strength to impose your own terms upon life, then you must accept the terms it offers you.

music heard so deeply That it is not heard at all, but you are the music While the music lasts.

As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug's game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing.

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

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives.

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.