Quotes from Wis?awa Szymborska

The price, after all, for not having died already goes up not in leaps but step by step, and he would pay that price, too.

Hay tanto de Todo que lo que hay de Nada queda muy bien cubierto.

BÄ™dziemy mija? siÄ™ bez gestu i bez sÅ'owa nie pamiÄ™tajÄ…c, ?e przez krótki czas kochaliÅ›my siÄ™ na zawsze.

How many, after a shorter or longer life (if they still see a difference), good, because it's beginning, bad, because it's over (if they don't prefer the reverse)

Funny little thing. How could she know that even despair can work for you if you're lucky enough to outlive it.   I'd

Eve from the rib, Venus from foam, Minerva from Jupiter's head – All three were more real than me. When he isn't looking at me, I try to catch my reflection on the wall. And I see the nail where a picture used to be.

So poets keep on trying, and sooner or later the consecutive results of their self-dissatisfaction are clipped together with a giant paperclip by literary historians and called their "oeuvres.

The track's all yours. We won't get in your way: by then we will have set off chasing ourselves rather than you.

Here I am, Cassandra. And this is my city under ashes. And these are my prophet's staff and ribbons. And this is my head full of doubts.

They'll reenter their lives' cages, where love's tiger sometimes rages, but the beast's too tame to bite.   We'll

Why there's still all this space inside me I don't know.

within the four walls of avalanches, I call out to Yeti. Stomping my feet for warmth on the snow the snow eternal.

So poets keep on trying, and sooner or later the consecutive results of their self-dissatisfaction are clipped together with a giant paperclip by literary historians and called their "oeuvres." I

Most of the earth's inhabitants work to get by. They work because they have to. They didn't pick this or that occupation out of passion; the circumstances of their lives did the choosing for them.

I let myself be invented, modeled on my own reflection in his eyes. I dance, dance, dance in the stir of sudden wings.   The

When they said he didn't exist, he couldn't die of grief, so he had to be born. He's already out there living somewhere; he blinks his little eyes and grows.

A thousand and one is still only a thousand. That one seems never to have existed: a

A vida dura o tempo de umas marcas de garra na areia.

O sofrimento (capítulo três) não insulta o corpo. A morte chega com o sono. E vais sonhar que nem é preciso respirar, que o silêncio sem ar não é uma música má, pequeno como uma fagulha, a um toque te apagarás.

I've wanted to write about them for a long while, but it's a tricky subject, always put off for later and perhaps worthy of a better poet, even more stunned by the world than I. But time is short. I write.

Leggere libri è il gioco più bello che l'umanità abbia inventato.

We, too, can divide ourselves, it's true. / But only into flesh and a broken whisper. / Into flesh and poetry.

Ante esta visión siempre me abandona la certeza de que lo importante es más importante que lo insignificante.

MinÄ™li siÄ™ jak obcy, bez gestu i sÅ'owa, ona w drodze do sklepu, on do samochodu. Mo?e w popÅ'ochu albo roztargnieniu albo niepamiÄ™taniu, ?e przez krótki czas kochali siÄ™ na zawsze. [...]