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You Gave Me Hyacinths First A Year Ago; They Called Me The Hyacinth Girl.' —yet When We Came Back, Late, From The Hyacinth Garden, Your Arms Full, And Your Hair Wet, I Could Not Speak, And My Eyes Failed, I Was Neither Living Nor Dead, And I Knew Nothing, Looking Into The Heart Of Light, The Silence. Od' Und Leer Das Meer.

-T. S. Eliot

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You Gave Me Hyacinths

T. S. Eliot

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You Gave Me Hyacinths First A Year Ago; They Called Me The Hyacinth Girl.' —yet When We Came Back, Late, From The Hyacinth Garden, Your Arms Full, And Your Hair Wet, I Could Not Speak, And My Eyes Failed, I Was Neither Living Nor Dead, And I Knew Nothing, Looking Into The Heart Of Light, The Silence. Od' Und Leer Das Meer.

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But It Seems That Something Has Happened That Has Never Happened Before: Though We Know Not Just When, Or Why, Or How, Or Where.

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Success Is Relative. It Is What We Make Of The Mess We Have Made Of Things.

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Bad Poets Imitate, Good Poets Steal.

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In A World Of Fugitives The One Who Stays Home Will Seem To Be Running Away

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An Editor Should Tell The Author His Writing Is Better Than It Is. Not A Lot Better, A Little Better.

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There Will Be Time, There Will Be Time To Prepare A Face To Meet The Faces That You Meet.

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I Must Say Bernard Shaw Is Greatly Improved By Music.

There Is No Method But To Be Very Intelligent.

Music Heard So Deeply That It Is Not Heard At All, But You Are The Music While The Music Lasts.

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Talent Imitates, Genius Steals.

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In The Last Few Years Everything I'd Done Up To Sixty Or So Has Seemed Very Childish.

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