Quotes from Czes?aw Mi?osz

I was left behind with the immensity of existing things. A river, suffering because reflections of clouds and tress and not clouds and trees.

It is sweet to think I was a companion in an expedition that never ends

I have defined poetry as a 'passionate pursuit of the Real.

Language is the only homeland.

A true opium of the people is a belief in nothingness after death - the huge solace of thinking that for our betrayals, greed, cowardice, murders we are not going to be judged.

LearningTo believe you are magnificent. And gradually to discover that you are not magnificent. Enough labor for one human life.

Men will clutch at illusions when they have nothing else to hold to.

In a room wherepeople unanimously maintaina conspiracy of silence, one word of truthsounds like a pistol shot.

In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.

Learning To believe you are magnificent. And gradually to discover that you are not magnificent. Enough labor for one human life.

Language is the only homeland.

The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them.

You see how I try To reach with words What matters most And how I fail.

The bright side of the planet moves toward darkness And the cities are falling asleep, each in its hour, And for me, now as then, it is too much. There is too much world.

The voice of passion is better than the voice of reason. The passionless cannot change history.

Religion used to be the opium of the people. To those suffering humiliation, pain, illness, and serfdom, religion promised the reward of an after life. But now, we are witnessing a transformation, a true opium of the people is the belief in nothingness after death, the huge solace, the huge comfort of thinking that for our betrayals, our greed, our cowardice, our murders, we are not going to be judged.

The true enemy of man is generalization.

All of us yearn for the highest wisdom, but we have to rely on ourselves in the end.

He returns years later, has no demands. He wants only one, most precious thing: To see, purely and simply, without name, Without expectations, fears, or hopes, At the edge where there is no I or not-I.

All was taken away from you: white dresses, wings, even existence.

Of all things broken and lost, porcelain troubles me most.

Men will clutch illusions when they have nothing else to hold onto.

And when people cease to believe that there is good and evil, Only beauty will call to them and save them So that they will know how to say: this is true and that is false.

I am not my own friend. Time cuts me in two.