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Four Quartets

T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets is a profound and complex work that delves into the nature of existence, the passage of time, and the search for meaning in a chaotic world. The collection consists of four poems: 'Burnt Norton,' 'East Coker,' 'The Dry Salvages,' and 'Little Gidding.' These poems are known for their rich symbolism, philosophical depth, and musicality, making them a cornerstone of modern poetry. more

Author

T.S. Eliot

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“The world likes to see things in black and white, in moral and immoral. But there is gray in between. And just because a person is capable of wickedness, doesn't mean they will act upon it. And then there is the notion of perceived immorality. I highly doubt Chauncey would even consider laying a tentacle on another person in violence, even if it meant protecting himself. And yet people see him and decide based upon his appearance that he is something monstrous." "That's not fair," Linus admitted. "Even if he does hide under my bed one morning out of every three." "Only because he's still wrestling with what he was told he was supposed to be versus who he actually is.”

“You’ve become your own cage, bars forged from fears you once called armor, now rusted, bleeding into the veins of your dreams. Each step is tethered to the weight of who you were, but that old skin no longer fits your bones. Look down— your shadow clings like a desperate lover, begging you to stay. But beyond the edge, the wind whispers of freedom, of shedding this worn-out shell.”

“For the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of my future. Instead, I was excited by all the possibilities the world had to offer and eager to experience as many of them as I could. The list of things I wanted to do grew and grew. I wanted to see and taste and smell and touch everything. And the more I wanted for reasons rooted in curiosity rather than survival, the more I discovered about who I was at my center. And the more I was able to see my own potential and worth.”

“In Blackwater Woods Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars of light, are giving off the rich fragrance of cinnamon and fulfillment, the long tapers of cattails are bursting and floating away over the blue shoulders of the ponds, and every pond, no matter what its name is, is nameless now. Every year everything I have ever learned in my lifetime leads back to this: the fires and the black river of loss whose other side is salvation, whose meaning none of us will ever know. To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.”