The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock A Poem by T.S. Eliot www.poetryfoundation.org A pair of ragged clawsDo I dare disturb the universe?That is not it at allI have heard the mermaids singing lonelinessmelancholy
The Waste Land A Poem by T.S. Eliot www.poetryfoundation.org HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIMEA handful of dustWho walks beside you?Has it begun to sprout?Fragments solitudesociety
Human kind cannot bear very much reality A Fragment by T.S. Eliot www.coldbacon.com Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind Cannot bear very much reality. Time past and time future What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present. realitytime
It was all change until the very last second Every work of literature is the result of thousands and thousands of decisions. Intricate, minute decisions—this word or that, here or where, now or later, again and again. It's the living tissue of a writer's choices, Not the fossil record of an ancient, inspired race. Verlyn Klinkenborg, Several Short Sentences About Writing A concept of style decisionscraft