I’m one-time-only to the marrow of my bones.
WISLAWA SZYMBORSKALet the people who never find true love keep saying that there’s no such thing. Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.
More Wislawa Szymborska Quotes
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Somewhere out there the world must have an end.
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Every beginning is only a sequel, after all, and the book of events is always open halfway through.
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Animals don’t even try to look any different from what nature intended. They humbly wear their shells, scales, spines, plumes, pelts, and down. The conscious impulse to change one’s appearance is found only among humans.
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Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.
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My choices are rejections, since there is no other way, but what I reject is more numerous, denser, more demanding than before. A little poem, a sigh, at the cost of indescribable losses.
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Whether you want it or not, your genes have a political past, your skin a political tone. your eyes a political color. You walk with political steps on political ground.
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In every tragedy, an element of comedy is preserved. Comedy is just tragedy reversed.
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There is so much Everything that Nothing is hidden quite nicely.
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All is mine but nothing owned, nothing owned for memory, and mine only while I look.
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I’m working on the world, revised, improved edition, featuring fun for fools blues for brooders, combs for bald pates, tricks for old dogs.
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And whatever I do will become forever what I’ve done.
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No day copies yesterday, no two nights will teach what bliss is in precisely the same way, with precisely the same kisses.
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Whatever inspiration is, it’s born from a continuous “I don’t know.
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Poets yearn, of course, to be published, read, and understood, but they do little, if anything, to set themselves above the common herd and the daily grind.
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Nothing’s a gift, it’s all on loan.
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Any knowledge that doesn’t lead to new questions quickly dies out: it fails to maintain the temperature required for sustaining life.
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Something doesn’t start at its usual time. Something doesn’t happen as it should. Someone was always, always here, then suddenly disappeared and stubbornly stays disappeared.
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No one in my family has ever died of love. What happened, happened, but nothing myth-inspiring.
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We’re extremely fortunate not to know precisely the kind of world we live in. One would have to live a long, long time, unquestionably longer than the world itself.
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I slide my arm from under the sleeper’s head and it is numb, full of swarming pins, on the tip of each, waiting to be counted, the fallen angels sit.
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At the very beginning of my creative life I loved humanity. I wanted to do something good for mankind. Soon I understood that it isn’t possible to save mankind.
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What does the world get from two people/who exist in a world of their own?
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Is a decision made in advance really any kind of choice?
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I’m fighting against the bad poet who is prone to using too many words.
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Keep up the good work, if only for a while, if only for the twinkling of a tiny galaxy.
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Get to know other worlds, if only for comparison.
WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA