T. S. Eliot
(page 2)

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Where is all the knowledge we lost with information?

It's strange that words are so inadequate. Yet, like the asthmatic struggling for breath, so the lover must struggle for words.

Home is where one starts from.

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.

You are the music while the music lasts.

Knowledge is invariably a matter of degree: you cannot put your finger upon even the simplest datum and say this we know.

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

It is obvious that we can no more explain a passion to a person who has never experienced it than we can explain light to the blind.

Humankind cannot bear very much reality.

This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.

T. S. Eliot(page 2)