ELIOT, T.S.
    
      
    
      
    
      
    Murder In The Cathedral
    : 
    
      
    …..
    
      
    destiny waits in the hand of god,
    
      
    shaping the still unshapen
    
      
    i have seen these things in a shaft of sunlight
    
      
    destiny waits in the hand of god,
    
      
    not in the hands of statesmen
  
    …..
    
      
    the fool, fixed in his folly, may think
    
      
    he can turn the wheel on which he turns
  
    …..
    
      
    the impossible is still temptation.
    
      
    the impossible, the undesirable,
    
      
    voices under sleep, waking a dead world,
    
      
    so that the mind may not be whole in the present.
    
      
    if the archbishop cannot trust the throne
    
      
    he has good cause to trust none
    
      
    but god alone
    
      
    shall i who ruled like an eagle over doves
    
      
    now take the shape of a wolf among wolves?
    
      
    can i neither act nor suffer
    
      
    without perdition
  
    …..
    
      
    you know and do not know, what it is to act or suffer.
    
      
    you know and do not know, that acting is suffering, and suffering action.
    
      
    neither does the actor suffer nor the patient act. but both are fixed
    
      
    in an eternal action, an eternal patience
    
      
    to which all must consent that it may be willed
    
      
    and which all must suffer that they may will it,
    
      
    that the pattern may subsist, that the wheel may
    
      
    turn and still be forever still
  
    …..
    
      
    god gave us always some reason, some hope;
    
      
    but now a new terror has soiled us, which
    
      
    none can avert, none can avoid,
    
      
    flowing under our feet and over the sky,
    
      
    under doors down chimneys, flowing in
    
      
    at the ear and the mouth and the eye.
    
      
    living and partly living
    
      
    god is leaving us, god is leaving us,
    
      
    more pang, more pain, than birth
    
      
    or death
    
      
    o thomas archbishop, save us, save us
    
      
    save yourself that we may be saved,
    
      
    destroy yourself and we are destroyed
  
    …..
    
      
    for the true martyr is he
    
      
    who has become the instrument of god
    
      
    who has lost his will in the will of god
    
      
    not lost it but found it
    
      
    for he has found freedom in submission to god
    
      
    the martyr no longer desires anything for himself 
    
      
    not even the glory of martyrdom
    
      
    so in heaven the saints are most high
    
      
    having made themselves most low
    
      
    seeing themselves not as we see them
    
      
    but in the light of the godhead.
    
      
    from which they draw their being
  
    …..
    
      
    the peace of this world is always uncertain
    
      
    unless men keep the peace of god
    
      
    we wait, and the time is short
    
      
    but waiting is long
    
      
    peace, and be at peace with your thoughts and visions.
    
      
    these things had to come to you and you to accept them.
    
      
    this is your share of the eternal burden, the perpetual glory.
    
      
    this is one moment, but know that the other
    
      
    shall pierce you with a sudden painful joy
    
      
    when the figure of gods purpose is made complete.
  
    …..
    
      
    you shall forget these things, toiling in the household
    
      
    you shall remember them droning by the fire
    
      
    when age and forgetfulness sweeten memory
    
      
    only like a dream that has often been told
    
      
    and often been changed in the telling.
    
      
    they will seem unreal.
    
      
    human kind cannot bear very much reality
    
      
    i have therefore only make perfect my will
    
      
    i give my life to the law of god
    
      
    above the law of man
    
      
    
      
    
      
    The Cocktail Party
  
    …..
    
      
    We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.
  
    …..
    
      
    I must tell you that I should really like to think there's something wrong with me- Because, if there isn't, then there's something wrong with the world itself-and that's much more frightening! That would be terrible. So I'd rather believe there is something wrong with me, that could be put right
  
    …..
    
      
    There was a door
  
And I could not open it. I could not touch the handle.
Why could I not walk out of my prison?
What is hell? Hell is oneself,
Hell is alone, the other figures in it
Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from
    And nothing to Escape to. One is always alone.
    
      
    …..
    
      
    And if all that is meaningless, I want to be cured 
  
Of a craving for something I cannot find
And of the shame of never finding it.
    …..
    
      
    Reilly: The human condition...they may remember the vision they have had, but they cease to regret it, maintain themselves by the common routine, learn to avoid excessive expectation, Become tolerant of themselves and others, Giving and taking, in the usual actions what there is to give and take. They do not repine; Are contented with the morning that separates and with the evening that brings together for casual talk before the fire. Two people who know they do not understand each other, breeding children whom they do not understand and who will never understand them.
  
    …..
    
      
    Half the harm that is done in this world
  
    Is due to people who want to feel important. 
    
      
    …..
    
      
    Everyone’s alone—or so it seems to me.
  
They make noises, and think they are talking to each other;
They make faces, and think they understand each other,
And I’m sure they don’t. Is that delusion?
    Can we only love something created in our own imaginations?
    
      
    …..