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The child who dwells inside us trusts that there are wise men somewhere who know the truth.

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
Children
Trusts
Men
Dwells
Somewhere
Argument
Inside
Wise
Child
Truth

More quotes by Czeslaw Milosz

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It was only toward the middle of the twentieth century that the inhabitants of many European countries came, in general unpleasantly, to the realization that their fate could be influenced directly by intricate and abstruse books of philosophy.
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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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A man should not love the moon. An ax should not lose weight in his hand. His garden should smell of rotting apples, And grow a fair amount of nettles.
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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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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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The revolt against one's environment is usually 'shame' of one's environment.
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It is sweet to think I was a companion in an expedition that never ends
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Men will clutch at illusions when they have nothing else to hold to.
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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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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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What has no shadow has no strength to live.
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What is this enigmatic impulse that does not allow one to settle down in the achieved, the finished? I think it is a quest for reality.
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All was taken away from you: white dresses, wings, even existence.
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Language is the only homeland.
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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 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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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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We have become indifferent to content, and react, not even to form, but to technique, to technical efficiency itself.
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Poetry is a dividend from what you know and what you are.
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When I curse Fate, it's not me, but the earth in me.
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