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Across the moment, aeons speak with aeons. More than we experienced has gone by.

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
Across
Gone
Moment
Speak
Moments
Aeons
Experienced

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All things want to float.
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As the arrow endures the string, and in the gathering momentum becomes more than itself. Because to stay is to be nowhere.
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All emotions are pure which gather you and lift you up that emotion is impure which seizes only one side of your being and so distorts you.
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And these things that keep alive on departure know that you praise them transient, they look to us, the most transient, to be their rescue. They want us to change them completely, in our invisible hearts, into -- O endlessly -- us! Whoever, finally, we may be.
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More unsayable than all other things are works of art, those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life.
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No great art has ever been made without the artist having known danger.
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In the night, I wish to speak with the angel to find out if she recognizes my eyes, if she will ask me: do you see Eden? And I’ll reply: Eden burns.
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There are no classes in life for beginners right away you are always asked to deal with what is most difficult.
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I want to unfold. Let no place in me hold itself closed, for where I am closed, I am false.
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Whoever you are, go out into the evening, leaving your room, of which you know every bit your house is the last before the infinite, whoever you are.
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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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Deeply I go down into myself. My god is Dark and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence.
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Harshness vanished. A sudden softness has replaced the meadows' wintry grey. Little rivulets of water changed their singing accents. Tendernesses, hesitantly, reach toward the earth from space, and country lanes are showing these unexpected subtle risings that find expression in the empty trees.
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Verses are not, as people think, feelings (those one has early enough) -- they are experiences. For the sake of a verse one must see many cities, men, and things, one must know the animals feel how birds fly, and know the gesture with which the little flowers open in the morning.
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Go into yourself and see how deep the place is from which your life flows.
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Live your questions now, and perhaps even without knowing it, you will live along some distant day into your answers.
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the longer I live, the more necessary it seems to me to endure, to copy the whole dictation of existence to the end, for it might be that only the last sentence contains that small, perhaps inconspicuous word through which all laboriously learned and not understood orients itself toward glorious sense.
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Look, I am living. On what? Neither childhood nor future lessens . . . . Superabundant existence wells in my heart.
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Every intensification is good, if it is in your entire blood, if it isn't intoxication or muddiness, but joy which you can see into, clear to the bottom.
Rainer Maria Rilke
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This is the miracle that happens every time to those who really love the more they give, the more they possess of that precious nourishing love from which flowers and children have their strength and which could help all human beings if they would take it without doubting.
Rainer Maria Rilke