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From life, from the apple cut by the flaming knife, what grain will be saved? My son, believe me, nothing remains, Only adult toil, the furrow of fate in the palm. Only toil, Nothing more.

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When a writer is born into a family, the family is finished.
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Born Family Poet Writing
It was only toward the middle of the twentieth century that the inhabitants of many European countries came, in general unpleasantly, to the realization that their fate could be influenced directly by intricate and abstruse books of philosophy.
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What is poetry which does not save nations or people?
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Learning To believe you are magnificent. And gradually to discover that you are not magnificent. Enough labor for one human life.
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Language is the only homeland.
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Yet falling in love is not the same as being able to love.
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You who think of us: they lived only in delusion, Know that we the People of the Book, will never die!
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Death Illusion Live People Thinking
Do you know how it is when one wakes at night suddenly and asks, listening to the pounding heart: what more do you want, insatiable?
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Fear Listening Night Wake Up Yourself
Consciousness even in my sleep changes primary colors. The features of my face melt like a wax doll in the fire. And who can consent to see in the mirror the mere face of man?
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At every sunrise I renounce the doubts of night and greet the new day of a most precious delusion.
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Two attributes of a poet, avidity of the eye and the desire to describe that which he sees.
CZESLAW MILOSZ

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Be young forever, seasons of the earth.
CZESLAW MILOSZ

Earth Forever Season Young
All was taken away from you: white dresses, wings, even existence.
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A weak human mercy walks in the corridors of hospitals and is like a half-thawed winter.
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The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
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The purpose of poetry is to remind us / how difficult it is to remain just one person.
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