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Imagination, the traitor of the mind, has taken my solitude and slain it.

Robinson Jeffers

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Robinson Jeffers
Age: 75 †
Born: 1887
Born: January 10
Died: 1962
Died: January 20
Peace Activist
Poet
Writer
Pittsburg
Pennsylvania
Robinson Jeffers
John Robinson Jeffers
Traitor
Solitude
Imagination
Taken
Mind
Slain

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There is no reason for amazement: surely one always knew that cultures decay, and life's end is death.
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Death's a fierce meadowlark: but to die having made / Something more equal to the centuries / Than muscle and bone, is mostly to shed weakness.
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We have to live like people in a web of knives, we mustn't reach out our hands or we get them gashed.
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You making haste on decay: not blameworthy life is good, be it stubbornly long or suddenly A mortal splendor: meteors are not needed less than mountains: shine, perishing republic.
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If you should look for this place after a handful of lifetimes: Perhaps of my planted forest a few May stand yet, dark-leaved Australians or the coast cypress, haggard With storm-drift but fire and the axe are devils. Look for foundations of sea-worn granite, my fingers had the art To make stone love stone, you will find some remnant.
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Only the drum is confident, it thinks the world has not changed
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Cruelty is a part of nature, at least of human nature, but it is the one thing that seems unnatural to us.
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They import and they consume reality.
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The world's in a bad way, my man, And bound to be worse before it mends Better lie up in the mountain here Four or five centuries, While the stars go over the lonely ocean.
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The love of freedom has been the quality of Western man.
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Seagulls . . . slim yachts of the element.
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The greatest beauty is organic wholeness, the wholeness of life and things, the divine beauty of the universe.
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We might remember ... not to fear death it is the only way to be cleansed.
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Meteors are not needed less than mountains: shine, perishing republic.
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The tides are in our veins.
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The heads of strong old age are beautiful beyond all grace of youth.
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God is a lion that comes in the night. God is a hawk gliding among the stars-- If all the stars and the earth, and the living flesh of the night that flows in between them, and whatever is beyond them Were that one bird. He has a bloody beak and harsh talons, he pounces and tears.
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Oh heavy change. The world deteriorates like a rotting apple, worms and a skin.
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Humanity is the start of the race I say Humanity is the mould to break away from, the crust to break through, the coal to break into fire, The atom to be split.
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It seems to me that this whole alone is worthy of the deeper sort of love and that there is peace, freedom, I might say a kind of salvation, in turning one's affections outward toward this one God, rather than inwards on one's self, or on humanity, or on human imaginations and abstractions - the world of the spirits.
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