Emotions and Feelings

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless.

Garlic and sapphires in the mud Clot the bedded axle-tree. The trilling wire in the blood Sings below inveterate scars And reconciles forgotten wars.

Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened Into the rose garden.

They know and do not know, what it is to act or suffer. They know and do not know, that acting is suffering.

The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying Unbroken wings. And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices And the weak spirit quickens to rebel For the bent goldenrod and the lost sea smell.

The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying Unbroken wings. And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices And the weak spirit quickens to rebel For the bent goldenrod and the lost sea smell.

Wavering between the profit and the loss In this brief transit where the dreams cross The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying.

The time. Redeem The unread vision in the higher dream While jeweled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.

Terminate torment Of love unsatisfied The greater torment Of love satisfied.

Terminate torment Of love unsatisfied The greater torment Of love satisfied.

Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown, Lilac and brown hair; Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind over the third stair, Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair Climbing the third stair.

Because I do not hope to turn again 5 Because I do not hope Because I do not hope to turn.

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the air The air which is now thoroughly small and dry Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow.

We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!

Shape without form, shade without color, Paralyzed force, gesture without motion; Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom Remember us—if at all—not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men.

Dayadhvam: I have heard the key Turn in the door once and turn once only We think of the key, each in his prison Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison.

Here is no water but only rock.

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

He knew the anguish of the marrow The ague of the skeleton; No contact possible to flesh Allayed the fever of the bone.

Neither fear nor courage saves us. Unnatural vices Are fathered by our heroism. Virtues Are forced upon us by our impudent crimes. These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree.

His laughter tinkled among the teacups.

I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids Sprouting despondently at area gates.

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.