Fading, fading: strength beyond hope and despair climbing the third stair. Lord, I am not worthy Lord, I am not worthy but speak the word only.
And right action is freedom from past and future also.For most of us, this is the aim never to be realized. Who are only undefeated because we have gone on trying. "The Dry Salvages
There will be time, there will be timeTo prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.
You will have to live with those memories and make them into something new. Only by acceptance of the past will you alter its meaning.
We shall not cease from explorationAnd the end of all our exploringWill be to arrive where we startedAnd know the place for the first time.Through the unknown, remembered gateWhen the last of earth le...
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 us...
Unreal friendship may turn to real But real friendship, once ended, cannot be mended
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.In order to arrive at what you do not knowYou must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.In...
This is the way the world endsThis is the way the world endsThis is the way the world endsNot with a bang but a whimper.
Our emotions
Light
If time and space, as sages say,Are things which cannot be,The sun which does not feel decayNo greater is than we.So why, Love, should we ever prayTo live a century?
I have measured out my life in coffee spoons.
Half the harm that is done in this worldIs due to people who want to feel important.
Datta, dayadhvam, damyata(Give, sympathize, control)
Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the airThe air which is now thoroughly small and drySmaller and dryer than the will
And the end of all our exploring
A cold coming we had of it,Just the worst time of the yearFor a journey, and such a long journey:The ways deep and the weather sharp,The very dead of winter.And the camels galled, sore-footed, refract...
Poetry, if it is not to be a lifeless repetition of forms, must be constantly exploring "the frontiers of the spirit." But these frontiers are not like the surveys of geographical explorers, conquered...
April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixingMemory and desire, stirringDull roots with spring rain.Winter kept us warm, coveringEarth in forgetful snow, feedingA little li...