“The world revolves like ancient women, gathering fuel in vacant lots.”

“Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh; The worlds revolve like ancient women Gathering fuel in vacant lots.”

“I am moved by fancies that are curledAround these images, and cling:The notion of some infinitely gentleInfinitely suffering thing.Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;The worlds revolve like ancient womenGathering fuel in vacant lots.”

“The winter evening settles downWith smell of steaks in passageways.Six o'clock.The burnt-out ends of smoky days.And now a gusty shower wrapsThe grimy scrapsOf withered leaves about your feetAnd newspapers from vacant lots;The showers beatOn broken blinds and chimney-pots,And at the corner of the streetA lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.And then the lighting of the lamps.”

“At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity, Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.”

“Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats 5 Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10 Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.”

“This is the way the world endsThis is the way the world endsThis is the way the world endsNot with a bang but a whimper.”