Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
No artist produces great art by a deliberate attempt to express his own personality.
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.
Turn things you've always wanted to do, into things you've done
i will show you fear in a handful of dust." t.s. eliot we don't actually fear death, we fear that no one will notice our absence, that we will disappear without a trace.