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A day so happy. Fog lifted early. I worked in the garden. Hummingbirds were stopping over honeysuckle flowers. There was no thing on earth I wanted to possess. I know no one worth my envying him.

Czeslaw Milosz

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Czeslaw Milosz
Age: 93 †
Born: 1911
Born: June 30
Died: 2004
Died: August 14
Diplomat
Essayist
Pedagogue
Poet
Translator
University Teacher
Writer
Clarksburg
West Virginia
Miłosz
Czelaw Milosz
Worth
Possess
Envying
Happy
Appreciation
Joyfulness
Earth
Flowers
Thankfulness
Wanted
Gratitude
Fog
Thing
Garden
Cheerfulness
Worked
Lifted
Flower
Stopping
Early
Cheer
Honeysuckle

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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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A true opium of the people is a belief in nothingness after death.
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I have no wisdom, no skills, and no faith but I received strength, it tears the world apart. I shall break, a heavy wave, against its shores and a young wave will cover my trace.
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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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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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At every sunrise I renounce the doubts of night and greet the new day of a most precious delusion.
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On the day the world ends A bee circles a clover, A fisherman mends a glimmering net.
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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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Grow your tree of falsehood from a small grain of truth. Do not follow those who lie in contempt of reality. Let your lie be even more logical than the truth itself, so the weary travelers may find repose.
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What is poetry which does not save nations or people?
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Human reason is beautiful and invincible. No bars, no barbed wire, no pulping of books, No sentence of banishment can prevail against it. It puts what should be above things as they are. It does not know Jew from Greek nor slave from master.
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It is sweet to think I was a companion in an expedition that never ends
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The soul exceeds its circumstances.
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Poetry is a dividend from what you know and what you are.
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Men will clutch at illusions when they have nothing else to hold to.
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They used to pour millet on graves or poppy seeds To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds. I put this book here for you, who once lived So that you should visit us no more.
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The partition separating life from death is so tenuous. The unbelievable fragility of our organism suggests a vision on a screen: a kind of mist condenses itself into a human shape, lasts a moment and scatters.
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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.
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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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What has no shadow has no strength to live.
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