This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.

April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain.

We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.

Friendship should be more than biting time can sever.

There is not a more repulsive spectacle than on old man who will not forsake the world, which has already forsaken him.

I had seen birth and death but had thought they were different.