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“But when I lean over the chasm of myself—
it seems
my God is dark
and like a web: a hundred roots
silently drinking.
This is the ferment I grow out of.
More I don’t know, because my branches
rest in deep silence, stirred only by the wind.”
― Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God
it seems
my God is dark
and like a web: a hundred roots
silently drinking.
This is the ferment I grow out of.
More I don’t know, because my branches
rest in deep silence, stirred only by the wind.”
― Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God
“Pleasure to me is wonder—the unexplored, the unexpected, the thing that is hidden and the changeless thing that lurks behind superficial mutability.”
―
―
“sleep is the most innocent creature there is and a sleepless man
the most guilty.”
― Letters to Milena
the most guilty.”
― Letters to Milena
“You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.”
― Letters to Milena
― Letters to Milena
“From now on, I thought, only French mice will love me.”
― Black Swans: Stories
― Black Swans: Stories
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