“Poorly prepared for the dignity of life, I barely keep up with the pace of the action imposed. Reality demands.”

Life lasts but a few scratches of the claw in the sand.

Sometimes I write quickly, sometimes I spend several weeks on a single poem. I would really love for readers not to be able to guess which of the poems took so much work!

No one in my family has ever died of love. What happened, happened, but nothing myth-inspiring.

After every war someone has to tidy up.

I started earning a living as a poet rather early on.

All imperfection is easier to tolerate if served up in small doses.

Poetic talent doesn’t operate in a vacuum. There is a spirit of Polish poetry.

All is mine but nothing owned, nothing owned for memory, and mine only while I look.

Keep up the good work, if only for a while, if only for the twinkling of a tiny galaxy.

This terrifying world is not devoid of charms, of the mornings that make waking up worthwhile.

It’s a well-known fact: in order to follow doctor’s orders, you have to be healthy as a horse.

Every beginning is only a sequel, after all, and the book of events is always open halfway through.

I don’t know the role I’m playing. I only know it’s mine, non-convertible.

No one feels good at four in the morning. If ants feel good at four in the morning —three cheers for the ants.

Out of every hundred people, those who always know better: fifty-two.

Somewhere out there the world must have an end.

Honour is purchas’d by the deeds we do.

I always wondered why somebody doesn’t do something about that. Then I realized I was somebody.

When our thoughts – which bring actions – are filled with hate against anyone, Negro or white, we are in a living hell. That is as real as hell will ever be.

For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.

The hands of the guilty don’t necessarily tremble; only in stories does a dropped glass betray agitation. Tension is more often shown in the studied action.

I would not leave anything to a man of action as he would be tempted to give up work; on the other hand, I would like to help dreamers as they find it difficult to get on in life.

Who would ever care to do brave deed, Or strive in virtue others to excel, If none should yield him his deserved meed Due praise, that is the spur of doing well? For if good were not praised more than ill, None would choose goodness of his own free will.

Successful people aren’t born that way. They become successful by establishing the habit of doing things unsuccessful people don’t like to do. The successful people don’t always like these things themselves; they just get on and do them.