April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
~ T.S. Eliot

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Where shall the word be found? Where will the word resound?
Not here, there is not enough silence.
~ T.S. Eliot

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Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality.
~ T.S. Eliot

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Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only, for only the wind will listen.
~ T.S. Eliot

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