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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.

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
Liked
Pools
Flesh
Beaches
Protect
Clinic
Word
Bone
Thought
Swimming
Pool
Beach
Clinics
Bones
Pitied

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Language is the only homeland.
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Men will clutch at illusions when they have nothing else to hold to.
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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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The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them.
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All was taken away from you: white dresses, wings, even existence.
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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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A weak human mercy walks in the corridors of hospitals and is like a half-thawed winter.
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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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A true opium of the people is a belief in nothingness after death.
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Be young forever, seasons of the earth.
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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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I am composed of contradictions, which is why poetry is a better form for me than philosophy
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The soul exceeds its circumstances.
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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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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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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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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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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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