| This is the way the world will end
This is the way the world will end
This is the way the world will end
Not with a bang, but a whimper. |
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April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
(Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, had a bad cold)
What branches grow out of this stony rubbish?
Son of man, you cannot say, or guess, for you know only a heap of broken images.
What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
I never know what you are thinking. Think.
You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember nothing?
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag --
It's so elegant
So intelligent
What shall I do now? What shall I do?
What Shall we ever do?
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME.
The chemist said it would be all right, but I've never been the same.
You are a proper fool. Goodnight.
Weialala la la
Wallala leialala
Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell
And the profit and loss.
THE AWFUL DARING OF A MOMENT'S SURRENDER WHICH AN AGE OF PRUDENCE CAN NEVER RETRACT. BY THIS, AND THIS ONLY, WE HAVE EXISTED.
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| It's often safer to be in chains than to be free.
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