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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
MiĆosz
Czelaw Milosz
Earth
Flowers
Thankfulness
Wanted
Gratitude
Fog
Thing
Garden
Cheerfulness
Worked
Lifted
Flower
Stopping
Early
Cheer
Honeysuckle
Worth
Possess
Envying
Happy
Appreciation
Joyfulness
More quotes by Czeslaw Milosz
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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At every sunrise I renounce the doubts of night and greet the new day of a most precious delusion.
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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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We have become indifferent to content, and react, not even to form, but to technique, to technical efficiency itself.
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The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them.
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All of us yearn for the highest wisdom, but we have to rely on ourselves in the end.
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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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You see how I try To reach with words What matters most And how I fail.
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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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What has no shadow has no strength to live.
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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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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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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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I think that I am here, on this earth, to present a report on it, but to whom I don't know. As if I were sent so that whatever takes place has meaning because it changes into memory.
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When I curse Fate, it's not me, but the earth in me.
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A true opium of the people is a belief in nothingness after death.
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If I am all mankind, are they themselves without me?
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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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The true enemy of man is generalization.
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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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