Peculiarly enough, since Friday, I cannot get the following passage from Eliot’s Four Quartets out of my mind. It’s like a Stoic mantra.
Eliot wrote his PhD thesis on Bradley but loved the Stoics. I’m not saying this because Eliot wrote on Seneca. No… Judge for yourself:
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing;
Wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing;
There is yet faith.
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.