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I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
---William Shakespeare, Illustrated
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The very existence of libraries affords the best evidence that we may yet have hope for the future of man
T.S. Eliot
It is the mynd, that maketh good or ill,
That maketh wretch or happie, rich or poore:
For some, that hath abundance at his will,
Hath not enough, but wants in greatest store;
And other, that hath litle, askes no more,
But in that litle is both rich and wise.
For wisedome is most riches; fooles therefore
They are, which fortunes doe by vowes deuize,
Sith each vnto himselfe his life may fortunize.
Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene
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Pluck up your hearts, since fate still rests our friend.
---Christopher Marlowe
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Books. Cats. Life is good.
T.S. Eliot
Yet gold all is not, that doth gold seem,
Nor all good knights, that shake well spear and shield:
The worth of all men by their end esteem,
And then praise, or due reproach them yield.
Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene, Book Two
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For I have known them all already, known them all—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
T.S. Eliot, T. S. Eliot
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
William Shakespeare, Shakespeare's
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Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.
T.S. Eliot
I hate the day, because it lendeth light
To see all things, but not my love to see.
Edmund Spenser, Daphna
Hell is just a frame of mind.
Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus
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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.
T.S. Eliot
And he that strives to touch the stars
Oft stumbles at a straw.
Edmund Spenser, The Shepherd's Calendar
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Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets
For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning."
(Little Gidding)
T.S. Eliot