What is poetry which does not save nations or people?
CZESLAW MILOSZTwo attributes of a poet, avidity of the eye and the desire to describe that which he sees.
More Czeslaw Milosz Quotes
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Consolation Calm down. Both your sins and your good deeds will be lost in oblivion.
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Love means to look at yourself The way one looks at distant things For you are only one thing among many.
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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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Even if that is so, there will remain A word wakened by lips that perish, A tireless messenger who runs and runs Through interstellar fields, through the revolving galaxies, And calls out, protests, screams.
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For a country without a past is nothing, a word That, hardly spoken, loses its meaning, A perishable wall destroyed by flame, An echo of animal emotions.
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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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I’ve always regretted that I’m made of contradictions. But, if contradiction is impossible to overcome, we have to accept both its ends.
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Poetry is a dividend from what you know and what you are.
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I am composed of contradictions, which is why poetry is a better form for me than philosophy.
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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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The purpose of poetry is to remind us / how difficult it is to remain just one person.
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Forget the suffering You caused others. Forget the suffering Others caused you. The waters run and run, Springs sparkle and are done, You walk the earth you are forgetting.
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It is sweet to think I was a companion in an expedition that never ends.
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Every poet depends upon generations who wrote in his native tongue; he inherits styles and forms elaborated by those who lived before him. At the same time, though, he feels that those old means of expression are not adequate to his own experience.
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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?
CZESLAW MILOSZ