At the entrance, my bare feet on the dirt floor, Here, gusts of heat; at my back, white clouds. I stare and… — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet Yet is not a prophet, for he's much too busy, Repeats while… — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
All was taken away from you: white dresses, wings, even existence. Yet I believe you, messengers. There, where the world is turned… — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
The child who dwells inside us trusts that there are wise men somewhere who know the truth. — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
We have become indifferent to content, and react, not even to form, but to technique, to technical efficiency itself. — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
“And Yet the Books And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings, That appeared once, still wet As shining chestnuts… — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
“When someone is honestly 55 percent right, that’s very good and there’s no use wrangling. And if someone is 60 percent right, it’s wonderful,… — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
“The worst possible sexual education: a taboo imposed by the Catholic church plus romantic literature elevating love to unreal heights plus the obscene language… — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
And if there is no lining to the world? If a thrush on a branch is not a sign, But just a thrush on… — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
At every sunrise I renounce the doubts of night and greet the new day of a most precious delusion. — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
I imagine the earth when I am no more: Women's dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley. Yet the books will be there… — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
There was a time when only wise books were read helping us to bear our pain and misery. This, after all, is not quite… — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
“In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent; A thing brought forth that we didn't know we had in us, So we… — Czeslaw Milosz Copy Share Image
