There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music.
T. S. EliotRead
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
Interpretation
What this quote means
Eliot describes April as a harsh month that brings new life, awakening painful memories and desires.
In this quote, T. S. Eliot reflects on the complexity of spring as a time of renewal and awakening, juxtaposing the beauty of blooming flowers with the harshness of confronting past memories and desires. April signifies a transition, where the once dormant landscape comes alive, but this revival also stirs painful emotions and memories that might be uncomfortable for individuals to face, thus branding it cruel.
Themes
AprilCruelMemoryDesireSpringRenewal
In practice
Example use cases
In a literary analysis of Eliot's work, I might quote, 'April is the cruelest month' to discuss themes of rebirth.
More from T. S. Eliot
All quotes βHalf of the harm that is done in this world is due to people who want to feel important. They don't mean to do harm. But the harm does not interest them.
T. S. EliotRead
I am an Anglo-Catholic in religion, a classicist in literature and a royalist in politics.
T. S. EliotRead
If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?
T. S. EliotRead
For I have known them all already, known them allβ Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
T. S. EliotRead
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
T. S. EliotRead
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The feel of not to feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steel it.
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In this particular tub, two knees jut up like icebergs, while minute brown hairs rise on arms and legs in a fringe of kelp; green soap navigates the tidal slosh of seas breaking on legendary beaches; in faith we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.
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Cold glass, how you insert yourself Between myself and myself. I scratch like a cat. The blood that runs is dark fruit- An effect, a cosmetic. You smile. No, it is not fatal.
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The unpurged images of day recede; The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed; Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song After great cathedral gong.
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I saw the gooseflesh on my skin. I did not know what made it. I was not cold. Had a ghost passed over? No, it was the poetry.
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