There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music.
T. S. EliotRead
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— Almost, at times, the Fool.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote reflects on the nature of identity and the roles individuals play in life, suggesting that not everyone is destined for greatness.
In this quote, T. S. Eliot expresses a complex understanding of one's place in the world, contrasting the heroic figure of Prince Hamlet with his own self-designation as an 'attendant lord.' He acknowledges the realities of being someone who supports others in their journeys rather than being the central figure in grand narratives. This suggests a deeper philosophical acceptance of different roles in life, the importance of supporting characters, and the humility in recognizing one's limitations. The speaker grapples with feelings of inferiority and absurdity, yet embraces the value of being a guide and contributor to the broader story.
Themes
IdentityRolesSupportHumilityAbsurdity
In practice
Example use cases
This quote could be referenced in a discussion about the importance of supporting roles in theater and life.
More from T. S. Eliot
All quotes →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.
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 all— 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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