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Forget the suffering You caused others. Forget the suffering Others caused you. The waters run and run, Springs sparkle and are done, You walk the earth you are forgetting.

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
Forget
Forgetting
Water
Springs
Running
Waters
Others
Caused
Earth
Spring
Done
Walk
Walks
Suffering
Sparkle

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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 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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The child who dwells inside us trusts that there are wise men somewhere who know the truth.
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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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The revolt against one's environment is usually 'shame' of one's environment.
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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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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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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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It's true that what is morbid is highly valued today, and so you may think that I am only joking or that I've devised just one more means of praising Art with the help of irony.
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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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In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.
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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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Men will clutch at illusions when they have nothing else to hold to.
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It is sweet to think I was a companion in an expedition that never ends
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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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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 imagine the earth when I am no more: Women's dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley. Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born, Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.
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The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
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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.
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