T. S. Eliot

Footfalls echo in the memory, Down the passage which we did not take, Towards the door we never opened Into read more

Footfalls echo in the memory, Down the passage which we did not take, Towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden.

Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.

Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.

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

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

For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice.

For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice.

Only by acceptance of the past, can you alter it.

Only by acceptance of the past, can you alter it.