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If I am all mankind, are they themselves without me?

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
Without
Mankind

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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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Poetry is a dividend from what you know and what you are.
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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 true enemy of man is generalization.
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Language is the only homeland.
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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 living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them.
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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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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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All of us yearn for the highest wisdom, but we have to rely on ourselves in the end.
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All was taken away from you: white dresses, wings, even existence.
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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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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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The soul exceeds its circumstances.
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They used to pour millet on graves or poppy seeds To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds. I put this book here for you, who once lived So that you should visit us no 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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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.
Czeslaw Milosz
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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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A true opium of the people is a belief in nothingness after death.
Czeslaw Milosz