Quotes from Czes?aw Mi?osz

It's warm as long as the sun does not set, in the shade cold returns. A strong sauna and then swimming in a pool surrounded by trees. Dark redwoods, transparent pale-leaved birches. In their delicate network, a sliver of the moon. I describe this for I have learned to doubt philosophy And the visible world is all that remains.

Since that moment when in a house with low eaves A doctor from the town cut the navel-string And pears dotted with white mildew Reposed in their nests of luxurious weeds I have been in the hands of humans.

Es posible que no haya otra memoria que la memoria de las heridas».

And who can consent at the mirror to a mere face of man?

How many times I have floated with you, transfixed in the middle of the night, hearing some voice above your horror-stricken church; a cry of grouse, a rustle of the heath were stalking in you and two apples shone on the table or open scissors glittered- and we were alike: apples, scissors, darkness, and I under the same immobile Assyrian, Egyptian, and Roman moon.

Kad nusinuodytum žiurknuodžiais, reikia prarasti bet koki? vilt? ir drauge visiškai pasiduoti savo mintims, tada jos užstoja vis? pasaul? ir žmogus ni?nieko neberegi, išskyrus savo likim?.

Tight-lipped, guided by reasons only, Cautiously let us step into the era of the unchained fire.

Love" Love means to learn to look at yourself The way one looks at distant things For you are only one thing among many. And whoever sees that way heals his heart, Without knowing it, from various ills A bird and a tree say to him: Friend. Then he wants to use himself and things So that they stand in the glow of ripeness. It doesn't matter whether he knows what he serves: Who serves best doesn't always understand.

If I had to tell what the world is for me I would take a hamster or a hedgehog or a mole and place him in a theatre seat one evening and, bringing my ear close to his humid snout, would listen to what he says about the spotlights, sounds of the music, and movements of the dance.

And what if Pascal had not been saved and if those narrow hands in which we laid a cross are just he, entire, like a lifeless swallow in the dust, under the buzz of the poisonous-blue flies? And if they all, kneeling with poised palms, millions, billions of them, ended together with their illusion? I shall never agree. I will give them the crown. The human mind is splendid; lips powerful, and the summons so great it must open Paradise.

È difficile comprendere da dove provenga quest'orgoglio dei poeti, se sovente si vergognano che appaia la loro debolezza.

At the entrance, my bare feet on the dirt floor, Here, gusts of heat; at my back, white clouds. I stare and stare. It seems I was called for this: To glorify things just because they are.

El verdadero opio del pueblo es la creencia en la nada después de la muerte; el gran consuelo que trae pensar que no vamos a ser juzgados por nuestras traiciones, avaricia, cobardía y crímenes

Sono gli impiegati che inventano, in fin dei conti, tutte queste scartoffie [i passaporti] per avvelenare la vita agli uomini, e le loro disposizioni non vanno prese troppo sul serio.

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

I wanted to be a judge but those whom I called "they" have changed into myself. I was getting rid of my faith so not to be better than me and women who are certain only of their unknowing. And on the roads of my terrestrial homeland turning round with the music of the spheres I thought that all I could do would be done better one day.

There was no castle. You were simply listening to a record. A needle, swaying lightly on a black frozen pond, Led the voices of dead poets out into the sun.

Indeed, the price one had to pay to remain true to the logic of History was terrible. One had to behold passively the death of thousands, take on one's conscience the torture of women and children transformed into human torches

What is not pronounced tends to nonexistence.

You whom I could not save Listen to me. Try to understand this simple speech as I would be ashamed of another. I swear, there is in me no wizardry of words. I speak to you with silence like a cloud or a tree. What strengthened me, for you was lethal.

In writing, we cannot help but wonder whether our work will help people or harm them. The truth can never harm. That is certain.

For instance, despite all our knowledge, we still associate the word "journey" with separation and speed.

It was as if solidarity with them– with people– was pushing me toward the edge, and I could be with them only by falling.