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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.

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
Think
Settle
Thinking
Settling
Achieved
Impulse
Finished
Allow
Enigmatic
Reality
Quests
Doe
Quest

More quotes by Czeslaw Milosz

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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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We have become indifferent to content, and react, not even to form, but to technique, to technical efficiency itself.
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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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A true opium of the people is a belief in nothingness after death.
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The revolt against one's environment is usually 'shame' of one's environment.
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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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All was taken away from you: white dresses, wings, even existence.
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Language is the only homeland.
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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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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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In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.
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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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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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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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The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
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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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You see how I try To reach with words What matters most And how I fail.
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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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What is poetry which does not save nations or people?
Czeslaw Milosz