Human life and objects and trees vibrate with mysterious meanings, which can be deciphered like cuneiform writing. There exists a meaning, hidden from day to day, but accessible in moments of greatest attentiveness, in those moments when consciousness loves the… — Adam Zagajewski Copy Share Image
A little rain, a little blood. Black fingernails in August; and going berserk, going bananas. As if entrapped in a tropical heatwave, with dozens of whirlwinds swirling in one’s mind, one thinks of a way out, or a way in:… — Adam Zagajewski Copy Share Image
Clear moments are so short. There is much more darkness. More ocean than terra firma. More shadow than form. — Adam Zagajewski Copy Share Image
“But where do we find what's lasting? Where do the deathless things hide?” — Adam Zagajewski Copy Share Image
Once in a while it vanishes - in the sense that I become deaf to beauty for a week or two or three. This… — Adam Zagajewski Copy Share Image
“Epithalamium Without silence there would be no music. Life paired is doubtless more difficult than solitary existence - just as a boat on the… — Adam Zagajewski Copy Share Image
“- Everything's finished. Riders gallop black horses, a tyrant composes a sentence of death with grammatical errors. Youth dissolves in a day; girls' faces… — Adam Zagajewski Copy Share Image
Gabriel Levin's book is a journey through time and through entrenched animosities of the Middle East. What's astonishing and refreshing is his ability to… — Adam Zagajewski Copy Share Image
Read for yourselves, read for the sake of your inspiration, for the sweet turmoil in your lovely head. But also read against yourselves, read… — Adam Zagajewski Copy Share Image
Cities at daybreak are no one's, and have no names. And I, too, have no name, dawn, the stars growing pale, the train picking… — Adam Zagajewski Copy Share Image
“Read for yourselves, read for the sake of your inspiration, for the sweet turmoil in your lovely head. But also read against yourselves, read… — Adam Zagajewski Copy Share Image
This day's nothingness as if from spite became a flame and scorched the lips of children and poets. — Adam Zagajewski Copy Share Image
