Quotes from Rainer Maria Rilke

Cum aÅŸ putea s? mi-l mai Å£in în mine sufletul când mi-l mângâi tu?

That your world is in agony is no reason to turn your back on it, or to try to escape into private "spiritual" pursuits. Rilke reminded me that I had the strength and courage to walk out into the world as into my own heart, and to "love the things / as no one has thought to love them" (I, 61).

You see, I am one who likes to look for things. I am one who, barely noticed, like a shepherd, comes up from behind … One who dreams of making you complete, and in that way completes himself.

Songs of longing! And they will resound in my letters, just as they always have, sometimes loudly and sometimes secretly so that you alone can hear them… But they will also be different — different from how they used to be, these songs. For I have turned and found longing at my side, and I have looked into her eyes, and now she leads me with a steady hand." ?from a letter to Lou Andreas-Salome

I live my life in widening circles that reach out across the world. I may not complete this last one but I give myself to it.

You run like a herd of luminous deer, and I am dark, I am forest.

All that we have gained, the machine threatens- once a tool assumes a force of its own. Instead of letting us get used to mastery, for buildings more severe it cuts the stone.

You darkness, that I come from, I love you more than all the fires that fence in the world, for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone, and then no one outside learns of you. But the darkness pulls in everything: shapes and fires, animals and myself, how easily it gathers them! – powers and people – and it is possible a great energy is moving near me. I have faith in nights.

in those small towns you come to realize how the cathedrals utterly outgrew their whole environment.

It seems to me that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension, which we feel as paralysis because we no longer hear our astonished emotions living.

I love the dark hours of my being. My mind deepens into them.

The artist's experience lies so unbelievably close to the sexual, to its pain and its pleasure, that the two phenomena are really just different forms of one and the same longing and bliss.

Everything assigned to us is a challenge; nearly everything that matters is a challenge, and everything matters.

You are so young; you stand before beginnings. I would like to beg of you, dear friend, as well as I can, to have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question.

In the room...they are inside the books. They move sometimes within the pages, like sleepers turning over between two dreams.

ich kreise jahrtausendelang; und ich weiß noch nicht: bin ich ein Falke, ein Sturm

Co to by?o - ten p?omie?, ten nieko?cz?cy si? brak, to s?odkie, g??bokie, promieniuj?ce uczucie zbieraj?cych si? ?ez? Co to by?o?

Solitude is not merely a matter of being alone: it is a territory to be entered and occupied.

Then take your fate upon yourself and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking for that reward which might come from without. For the creator must be a world for himself, and find everything within himself, and in Nature to which he has attached himself.

a band of painted horses, all from that bright land that lingers for so long before it fades

Whatever happens, your life will find its own paths from that point on, and that they may be good, productive and far-reaching is something I wish for you more than I can say.

Quite pure, quite free of future planning, I mounted the tangled funeral pyre built for my suffering, so sure of nothing more to buy for future needs, while in my heart the stored reserves kept silent.

If, when you wake up in the morning, you can think of nothing but writing then you are a writer" Se alla mattina quando ti alzi non pensi altro che allo scrivere allora sei uno scrittore

I find you, Lord, in all Things and in all my fellow creatures, pulsing with your life; as a tiny seed you sleep in what is small and in the vast you vastly yield yourself. The wondrous game that power plays with Things is to move in such submission through the world: groping in roots and growing thick in trunks and in treetops like a rising from the dead.