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.
WISLAWA SZYMBORSKAI am a tarsier and a tarsier’s son, the grandson and great-grandson of tarsiers, a tiny creature, made up of two pupils and whatever simply could not be left out.
More Wislawa Szymborska Quotes
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Loveless work, boring work, work valued only because others haven’t got even that much, however loveless and boring – this is one of the harshest human miseries.
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This terrifying world is not devoid of charms, of the mornings that make waking up worthwhile.
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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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Secret codes resound. Doubts and intentions come to light.
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Such certainty is beautiful, but uncertainty is more beautiful still.
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They say the first love’s most important. That’s very romantic, but not my experience.
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Out of every hundred people, those who always know better: fifty-two.
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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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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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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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I started earning a living as a poet rather early on.
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I am a tarsier and a tarsier’s son, the grandson and great-grandson of tarsiers, a tiny creature, made up of two pupils and whatever simply could not be left out.
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I’m one-time-only to the marrow of my bones.
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Poetic talent doesn’t operate in a vacuum. There is a spirit of Polish poetry.
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Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.
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Even boredom should be described with gusto. How many things are happening on a day when nothing happens?
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I prefer the absurdity of writing poems to the absurdity of not writing poems.
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All the best have something in common, a regard for reality, an agreement to its primacy over the imagination.
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I’d have to be really quick to describe clouds – a split second’s enough for them to start being something else.
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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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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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Nothing can ever happen twice. In consequence, the sorry fact is that we arrive here improvised and leave without the chance to practice.
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Dying – you can’t do that to a cat.
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God was finally going to believe in a man both good and strong, but good and strong are still two different men.
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Poorly prepared for the dignity of life, I barely keep up with the pace of the action imposed. Reality demands.
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It’s a well-known fact: in order to follow doctor’s orders, you have to be healthy as a horse.
WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA