I liked beaches, swimming pools, and clinics for there they were the bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh. I pitied them and myself, but this will not protect me. The word and the thought are over.
CZESLAW MILOSZHuman material seems to have one major defect: it does not like to be considered merely as human material. It finds it hard to endure the feeling that it must resign itself to passive acceptance of changes introduced from above.
More Czeslaw Milosz Quotes
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I was left behind with the immensity of existing things. A sponge, suffering because it cannot saturate itself; a river, suffering because reflections of clouds and trees are not clouds and trees.
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Our memory is childish and it saves only what we need.
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The child who dwells inside us trusts that there are wise men somewhere who know the truth.
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We have become indifferent to content, and react, not even to form, but to technique, to technical efficiency itself.
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The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person, for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at will.
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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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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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I am composed of contradictions, which is why poetry is a better form for me than philosophy.
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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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In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.
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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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I have defined poetry as a ‘passionate pursuit of the Real.
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Be young forever, seasons of the earth.
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Men will clutch at illusions when they have nothing else to hold to.
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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.
CZESLAW MILOSZ