Both T.s. Eliot And I Like To

There Is Little Much Beyond The Grave, But The Strong Are Saying Nothing Until They See.

There Are Tones Of Voices That Mean More Than Words.

States Strong Enough To Do Good Are But Few. Their Number Would Seem Limited To Three.

The Tree The Tempest With A Crash Of Wood Throws Down In Front Of Us Is Not To Bar Our Passage To Our Journey's End For Good, But Just To Ask Us Who We Think We Are.

A Voice Said, Look Me In The Stars And Tell Me Truly, Men Of Earth, If All The Soul-and-body Scars Were Not Too Much To Pay For Birth.