Author

And they write innumerable books; being too vain and distracted for silence: seeking every one after his own elevation, and dodging his emptiness.

For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope, For hope would be hope for the wrong thing.

Home is where one starts from.

Where is all the knowledge we lost with information?

Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought.

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

I don't believe one grows older. I think that what happens early on in life is that at a certain age one stands still and stagnates.

You are the music while the music lasts.

If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?

T. S. Eliot