Quotes from Jaroslav Seifert

When I was hungry I fed almost daily on the words of her songs.

Everything on earth has happened before, nothing is new, but woe to the lovers who fail to discover a fresh blossom in every future kiss.

Not till old age did I learn to love silence. Sometimes it is more exciting than music. In the silence emerge tremulous signals and at the crossroads of memory you hear names which time had tried to stifle.

There was a war all over the world and all over the world was grief. And yet I whispered into jewelled ears verses of love. It makes me feel ashamed. But no, not really.

All my life I have been faithful to love.

If an ordinary person is silent, it may be a tactical maneuver. If a writer is silent, he is lying.

Love is something huge You'll find out that Even if there were revolution in the whole wide world Still somewhere on green grass Lovers would have time to hold hands And lean their heads towards one another.

The worst is yet to come: I'm still alive.

But to cast my life away just like that for nothing at all -- that I won't do.

Když se jen dotkneš ruky mé a dla? tvá lehce padne do mé, struny, o kterých nevíme, ozvou se tiše, pov?domé.

Love is an eternal struggle with the angel. From dawn to night. Without mercy. The opponent is often stronger. But woe to him who doesn't realize that his angel has no wings and will not bless.

První sny dívek, které jsou zamilovány nejd?ív jen do lásky, bývají jako tolik v?cí na sv?t? tajemn?jší než tajemství zpov?dní! Nikdo se o nich nedozví, protože nejsou ješt? vymyšlena slova tak cudná a tak vášnivá zárov??.

Na n?žnou k?ivku ?ader tvých je t?žko hled?t bez závrati. Hrá? vroucn? housle k tvá?i zdvih a pobožn? chce na n? hráti.

A lad changed to a shrub in spring, the shrub into a shepherd boy, A fine hair to a lyre string, snow into snow on hair piled high.

A se znamením na t?le, jaké kdys nosívali v?zni, za láskou p?jde, nebo? bez ní je život troškou popele.

A její šat už nešustí, už dotan?ila. A ret pálí slzami, které líbávali d?íve jí muži nad ústy.

I did not then suspect how passion can disrobe when it wants to be evil.

Panno Maria, když už je nutno, abych um?el taky já, nedej bych um?el jako ten pes, dej a? um?u jednoho krásného dne na barikád? revoluce s puškou v ruce.

Neither greed for power nor thirst for glory are as dizzy as the passions of love

His heart wants to be tied to another heart, even by deep stitches.

And what do the poets have to say about it? — They only lie!

My sinful Magdalene, don't cry: Romantic love has spent its fires.

A single second is enough like steam in a retort to hiss, obedient to the alchemist and drops dead as a hunted dove.