Quotes from Constantinos P. Cavafis

At least let me now deceive myself with illusions so as not to feel my empty life. And yet I came so close so many times. And yet how paralyzed I was, how cowardly; why did I keep my lips sealed while my empty life wept inside me, my desires wore robes of mourning? To have been so close so many times to those sensual eyes, those lips, to that body I dreamed of, loved. To have been so close so many times. September 1903

Desires Like the beautiful bodies of those who died young, tearfully interred in a grand mausoleum with roses by their heads and jasmine at their feet – so seem those desires that have passed without fulfilment; without a single night of pleasure, or one of its radiant mornings.

He Vows Every now and then he vows to live a better life. But when night comes with her own counsels, with her promises and her compromises, when night comes with her power over the body that seeks and yearns, he returns, lost, to the same fatal pleasures.

Done Amid fear and suspicion, with startled minds and frightened eyes, we pine and scheme over what steps to take to avoid the certain danger that threatens us so horribly. Yet we are wrong. This was not the danger in store; the portents were false (or we never heard them, or failed to construe them properly). It's some other disaster, precipitous, violent, one we hadn't imagined, that suddenly takes us unawares, and – there's no time now – overcomes us.

Morning Sea Let me stop right here. Let me, too, have a look at nature: the morning sea and the cloudless sky, both a luminous blue, the yellow shore, all of it beautiful, and in such magnificent light. Let me stop right here. Let me pretend this is actually what I'm seeing (I really did see it, when I first stopped) and not, here too, more of those fantasies of mine, more of those memories, those voluptuous illusions.

Monotony One monotonous day follows another monotonous day, without change. The same things happen, then happen again. The same moments approach, then grow distant. A month passes and brings another month. Anyone can guess what's coming after: all the tedious events from the day before, until tomorrow looks nothing like tomorrow.

do not hurry the journey at all: better that it lasts for many years and you arrive an old man on the island, rich from all that you have gained on the way, not counting on Ithaca for riches. For Ithaca gave you the splendid voyage: without her you would never have embarked. She has nothing more to give you now. And though you find her poor, she has not misled you; you having grown so wise, so experienced from your travels, by then you will have learned what Ithacas mean.

Voices" Ideal and dearly beloved voices of those who are dead, or of those who are lost to us like the dead. Sometimes they speak to us in our dreams; sometimes in thought the mind hears them. And for a moment with their echo other echoes return from the first poetry of our lives — like music that extinguishes the far-off night.

Vuelve a menudo y tómame, en la noche, cuando los labios y la piel recuerdan...

And if you can't make your life as you'd wish it, try, at the very least, to accomplish this much: do not make it less than what it already is by mixing too excessively with the masses, by hanging around and endlessly chattering. Don't cheapen your life by parading it around, hauling it everywhere and laying it out there for the dreary humbug of familiars and fellowship, until it comes to feel like a curious dead weight.

Old Men's Souls Within their ancient, decrepit bodies the souls of old men wallow. Poor things, so full of sorrow: how bored with the wretched life they bear, yet how they cherish it and how they fear its loss, these contrary and befuddled souls, tragicomically huddled inside their ancient, desiccated hides.

The Windows In these dark rooms where I pass such listless days, I wander up and down looking for the windows – when a window opens there will be some relief. But there are no windows, or at least I cannot find them. And perhaps it's just as well. Perhaps the light would prove another torment. Who knows what new things it would reveal?

Walls Without reflection, without mercy, without shame, they built strong walls and high, and compassed me about. And now I sit here and consider and despair. My brain is worn with meditating on my fate: I had outside so many things to terminate. Oh! why when they were building did I not beware! But never a sound of building, never an echo came. Out of the world, insensibly, they shut me out.

I will not fear my passions, like a coward; I will give my body entirely to pleasure, to dreamed-of joys, the most brazen erotic desires, the most depraved passions in my blood, all without fear.