Quote

Everything is blooming most recklessly if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.

Rainer Maria Rilke

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Rainer Maria Rilke
Age: 51 †
Born: 1875
Born: December 4
Died: 1926
Died: December 29
Author
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Writer
Praha
René Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke
René Maria Cäsar Rilke
Rainer Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke
Li-erh-kʻo
Rainer Maria Rielke
René Rilke
Rainer Mariyah Rilḳeh
Rainŏ Maria Rilkʻe
Reiner Marie Rilke
Rene Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke
Rene Rilke
Everything
Voices
Heart
Seasons
Shrieking
Would
Spring
Recklessly
Color
Blooming
Instead
Springtime
Voice
April
Night
Unbelievable
Nature
Colors

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Dying is strange and hard if it is not our death, but a death that takes us by storm, when we've ripened none within us.
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Again and again in history some people wake up. They have no ground in the crowd and move to broader deeper laws. They carry strange customs with them and demand room for bold and audacious action. The future speaks ruthlessly through them. They change the world.
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The creator must be a world for himself and must find everything in himself and in Nature, to whom his whole life is devoted.
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Weren't you always distracted by expectation, as if every event announced a beloved? (Where can you find a place to keep her, with all the huge strange thoughts inside you going and coming and often staying all night.).
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One had to take some action against fear when once it laid hold of one.
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Someday there will be girls and women whose name will no longer mean the mere opposite of the male, but something in itself, something that makes one think not of any complement and limit, but only life and reality: the female human being.
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What we call fate does not come into us from the outside, but emerges from us.
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I am a house gutted by fire where only the guilty sometimes sleep before the punishment that devours them hounds them out in the open.
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But because truly being here is so much because everything here apparently needs us, this fleeting world, which in some strange way keeps calling to us. Us, the most fleeting of all.
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It seems to me that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension, which we feel as paralysis because we no longer hear our astonished emotions living.
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Shattered people are best represented by bits and pieces.
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Be patient with all that is uncertain in your heart...do not search for answers, which will not be given: you will not be able to live them, and its importat to live everything.
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I feel it now: there's a power in me to grasp and give shape to my world I know that nothing has ever been real without my beholding it. All becoming has need me.
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No great art has ever been made without the artist having known danger.
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Go into yourself. Dig into yourself for a deep answer
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If you trust in Nature, in the small Things that hardly anyone sees and that can so suddenly become huge, immeasurable if you have this love for what is humble and try very simply, as someone who serves, to win the confidence of what seems poor, then everything will become easier for you.
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I think of you often, dear, and with such concentrated wishes that it really must help you in some way.
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If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it blame yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches for the Creator, there is no poverty.
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How can I keep my soul in me, so that it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise it high enough, past you, to other things?
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Across the moment, aeons speak with aeons. More than we experienced has gone by.
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