of the seven deadly sins, the eighth and worst by far is emotional blackmail ... the diligent practise of this subtle and ancient art creates a constantly evolving darwinistic moral vacuum in which the brightest new manipulative ideas and stratagems flourish ... and which only you, or i, can fill !
Sunday, March 12, 2006
t.s.eliot's river ... run softly 'til i sing my song
eliot really does wedge his lyrical pathos into the mind's dustiest corners, and can suddenly wring your heartstrings, if you're not careful, when you go back to him after too long an estrangement
2 comments:
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.
But don't let us forget Edmund Spenser's Prothalamion, from whom Eliot borrowed it.
Against the Brydal day, which is not long:
Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.
My apologies, but you picked on a phrase, which has been with me since I myself wandered by the Thames.
eliot really does wedge his lyrical pathos into the mind's dustiest corners, and can suddenly wring your heartstrings, if you're not careful, when you go back to him after too long an estrangement
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