There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music.
T. S. EliotRead
The dripping blood our only drink, The bloody flesh our only food: In spite of which we like to think That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the paradox of finding goodness in suffering and sacrifice.
In this quote, T. S. Eliot highlights the irony of calling a day associated with suffering and sacrifice 'good.' He juxtaposes the imagery of blood and flesh with the notion of being 'sound, substantial,' suggesting that amidst our human struggles and vulnerabilities, we maintain a sense of normalcy and even celebrate certain traditions. This paradox invites contemplation on the nature of suffering, the meaning of goodness, and how we reconcile pain with hope.
In practice
In a discussion about the significance of Good Friday, this quote can be used to express the complexity of its meaning.
There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music.
Half 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.
I am an Anglo-Catholic in religion, a classicist in literature and a royalist in politics.
If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?
For I have known them all already, known them all— Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Let everyone see the blood,' he said. 'Don't clean it up. That's the only way people remember.'... I could see the blood inside my head. It was with me forever, whether or not I wanted to forget.
God’s sovereign will is not at the whim and mercy of our person and individual responses to it.
Beggars should be entirely abolished! Truly, it is annoying to give to them and annoying not to give to them.
I yearn to live and love and burn, and yet so much of my time is spent faking and forgetting, faking and forgetting I carry out my disbelief with uninspired hands, my eyes shut, my emotions dulled, my spirit numb. In times like these I am in desperate need of truth to come to me like a blinding light, like a splinter in my soul, reminding me of the brevity of my time here on earth.
What should we suppose must naturally be the consequence of our carrying on a slave trade with Africa? With a country, vast in its extent, not utterly barbarous, but civilized in a very small degree? Does any one suppose a slave trade would help their civilization?
Whatever hysteria exists is inflamed by mystery, suspicion and secrecy. Hard and exact facts will cool it.
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