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As if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose.

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
Feels
Trying
Love
Tried
Lose
Loses
Ever
Feel

More quotes by Rainer Maria Rilke

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They, who passed away long ago, still exist in us, as predisposition, as burden upon our fate, as murmuring blood, and as gesture that rises up from the depths of time.
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Strangely, I heard a stranger say, I am with you.
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You darkness, that I come from, I love you more than all the fires that fence in the world.
Rainer Maria Rilke
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most people come to know only one corner of their room, one spot near the window, one narrow strip on which they keep walking back and forth.
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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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Do not, do not, do not books for ever hammer at people like perpetual bells? When, between two books, silent sky appears: be glad
Rainer Maria Rilke
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Love the questions, themselves.
Rainer Maria Rilke
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No experience has been too unimportant, and the smallest event unfolds like a fate, and fate itself is like a wonderful, wide fabric in which every thread is guided by an infinitely tender hand and laid alongside another thread and is held and supported by a hundred others
Rainer Maria Rilke
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Do continue to believe that with your feeling and with your work you are taking part in the greatest the more strongly you cultivate in yourself this belief, the more will reality and world go forth from it.
Rainer Maria Rilke
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If we surrendered to earth’s intelligence we could rise up rooted, like trees. Instead we entangle ourselves in knots of our own making and struggle, lonely and confused. So like children, we begin again... to fall, patiently to trust our heaviness. Even a bird has to do that before he can fly. (from the poem How Sure Gravity's Law)
Rainer Maria Rilke
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Sometime we will have to stop overevaluating the word. We shall learn to realize that it is only one of the many bridges that connect the island of our soul with the great continent of common life. . . the broadest, perhaps, but in no way the most refined.
Rainer Maria Rilke
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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?
Rainer Maria Rilke
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Who is there today who still cares about a well-finished death? No one. Even the rich, who could after all afford this luxury, are beginning to grow lazy and indifferent the desire to have a death of one's own is becoming more and more rare. In a short time it will be as rare as a life of one's own.
Rainer Maria Rilke
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Rose, oh pure contradiction, joy of being No-one's sleep under so many lids.
Rainer Maria Rilke
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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.).
Rainer Maria Rilke
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Look: the trees exist the houses we dwell in stand there stalwartly. Only we pass by it all, like a rush of air. And everything conspires to keep quiet about us, half out of shame perhaps, half out of some secret hope.
Rainer Maria Rilke
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only someone who is ready for everything, who doesn't exclude any experience, even the most incomprehensible, will live the relationship with another person as something alive and will himself sound the depths of his own being.
Rainer Maria Rilke
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I live not in dreams but in contemplation of a reality that is perhaps the future.
Rainer Maria Rilke
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Openness, patience, receptivity, solitude is everything.
Rainer Maria Rilke
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If no one else, the dying must notice how unreal, how full of pretense, is all that we accomplish here, where nothing is allowed to be itself.
Rainer Maria Rilke