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Dig deep into your heart, where the answer spreads its roots in your being, and ask yourself solemnly, Must I write?

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
Heart
Roots
Answer
Deep
Answers
Asks
Write
Solemnly
Must
Spreads
Writing
Spread

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Openness, patience, receptivity, solitude is everything.
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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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The artist's experience lies so unbelievably close to the sexual, to its pain and its pleasure, that the two phenomena are really just different forms of one and the same longing and bliss.
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What is necessary, after all, is only this: solitude, vast inner solitude. To walk inside yourself and meet no one for hours-that is what you must be able to attain. To be solitary as you were when you were a child.
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I beg you, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.
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You who let yourselves feel: enter the breathing That is more than your own. Let it brush your cheeks As it divides and rejoins behind you. The trees you planted in childhood have grown Too heavy. You cannot bring them along. Give yourselves to the air, to what you cannot hold.
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I believe that nothing that is real can pass away.
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Young people, who are beginners in everything, cannot yet know love: they have to learn it.
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Music: breathing of statues. Perhaps: silence of paintings. You language where all language ends. You time standing vertically on the motion of mortal hearts.
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Nearly everything that matters is a challenge, and everything matters.
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Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart.
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What keeps you from... living your life as a painful and lovely day in the history of a great pregnancy?
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Draw near to Nature. Then try like some first human being to say what you see and experience and love and lose.
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Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confidence in the storms of spring without fear that after them may come no summer
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I am circling around God, around the ancient tower, and I have been circling for a thousand years, and I still don't know if I am a falcon, or a storm, or a great song.
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I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.
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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.
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If there is nothing you can share with other people, try to be close to Things, they will not abandon you and the nights are still here and the winds that move through the trees and across many lands everything in the world of Things and animals is still filled with happening, which you can take part in.
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The necessary thing is after all but this solitude, great inner solitude. Going into oneself for hours meeting no one - this one must be able to attain.
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Here is the time for the sayable, here is its home. Speak and attest. More than ever the things we can live with are falling away, and ousting them, filling their place, a will with no image. Will beneath crusts which readily crack whenever the act inside swells and seeks new borders.
Rainer Maria Rilke