Author of quotes: Rainer Maria Rilke. Page 1

No. To leave. For example, on the day of birth, when they are busy at the table and put there stupid gifts to all over again to equalize and to make amends. To leave - forever. Only much later he appears as earnest wanted it then not to love anyone, that no one is put in a terrible situation of a loved one. Years later he would understand, but, as other our intentions, and it would not be feasible. Because he loved and loved again in his loneliness; and every time lavishing his heart and soul and mortally fearing for the freedom of another. A long time passed before he learned to permeate rays of their feelings favorite subject, not podpolya it. Tired and excited, for all the more transparent features sweetheart learning given that it was opened by his insatiable thirst. How he cried at nights as wanted those rays pierced it himself! After all, committed to his beloved - does not yet loving. Inconsolable, bitter nights, when squander the gifts he returned sparingly beset by futility! As he understood the troubadours, who feared that their pleas will be heard! All inherited and multiplied the wealth he has to give to avoid it. He insulted the rough cost of those who, he feared, would respond to him in love. He has lost hope to meet the loving, which will absorb them.

It is enough that he was alone with the night, not sleeping, thinking of how right it was that loving: when I realized that from the Union of two only increases loneliness: when eager not to the sacred precincts, but by; when waiting for the dark embrace, not to talalas, but pick anguish; when he despised the impression that one of the two must be loving, another favorite, and carried away not knowing how to love on his bed, and podpisala, and did loving that it left.

Flowers and fruits fall off when ripe, animals I can remember, cling to each other and are satisfied with it. We, with God, we are always not ready. We're bound to his nature. We do not have enough time. That we have a year? What are the years? Even without thinking of God, we already pray: let us endure night. And disease. And then love.

The life of your favorite hard and dangerous. Ah, if they overcame, and became loving. Have a loving - reliable life. They have already cleared themselves can't change. They healed a secret, they sing it as a whole, like a Nightingale, not granulating. They cry for one; but all nature they echoed: a lament for the Eternal. They rush after the lost, but from the first steps overtake him, and in front of them - only God.

After all, greatness is only a moment, nothing longer trouble.

Speaking of the hermit, we make too many assumptions. We believe that people know who you mean. And they don't know. They've never seen him, they just hate him without knowing. They were his neighbors and he was hurt, they were the voices in the next room and he was tempted. They egg him on things that rattled and muffled his voice. The children were against him in the conspiracy because he was a child and delicate, and the more he grew, the greater grew his protivopolojnosti adults. They drove him like a beast, and in all his long youth have never been ban on this hunt. But he did not fall hunted, he ran away, and they blasphemed, and despised, and reviled that he left. He didn't listen, and then they ate his food, swallowed the air, spitting on his poverty so that he became nasty. They shunned like a leper, and cast into it stones. An ancient instinct did not deceive them: it was in fact their enemy. But he did not raise his eyes to them. And they thought better of it. They guessed that he is at hand. They only strengthened his alone, only helped to separate them - forever. And then they changed, they used against him the last extreme, other weapons: fame. And as for it crashing almost everyone will look up and dissipate.

And those who remained with their torturers, drunks, because he found a way to move away from them, having gone as far as possible from them myself and so shined just like live with the saints. Who will list them, anyone? They canceled ahead of time all the words that can be identified.

Unknown young man, if you are engaged in something, throwing you in awe, rejoice that no one knows you. And when someone crosses you esteeming you a jerk when you betray those with whom you were friends, when looking for to destroy you because you love thoughts - what does this clear risk, not encroaching on the main thing, next to a sly Subversion of fame, which you disinfect, crushing.

Is it possible that the whole history of mankind misinterpreted? That all the past is distorted, because we always talk about the masses, whereas it is not in the crowd, and the only round one she was pushing, because he was alien to her and he was dying?

The hotel is extremely old. Already in the days of king Clovis I died here on a few beds. Now die by five hundred and fifty-nine. Of course, the factory method. With such a huge production every death is really not so carefully finished; but it doesn't matter. The number is important. Who now need a perfectly executed death? Anyone. Even the rich, who could afford to die with all the thoroughness, and they gradually begin to debrincat. The desire to die with his own death is rarer and rarer. Further, she will become as rare as his own life. Lord! Because as it happens. You come in, life is waiting for you, ready, it remains only to get into her. You want or you are forced to leave, and again the slightest effort. Voilа votre mort, monsieur. Die anyhow. Die the death, which is your illness (because as we know now all diseases, we know that a death on the disease instead of the person; and the patient, as they say, nothing to do).

You sense my close. And doom
cherished. Those moments are equal
other hours with a vast white background,
when looking for sounds of silence.
About music! You dominate the noise
you in a single sound incarnate -
nanizyvat pearls necklace...

Over the snow of endless night
careless deathly calm,
and only in the heart of things, the eternal
all breathes of pain and anguish.
<...>
It hurts, it hurts, as if I wait
the world is going to perish without a trace -
like honey kissing,
"farewell, - whispers to me, forever!"

Hanging waterfall some frozen,
get cool and jackdaws on the pond.
Garima-burning your ear in a sweet,
from her pranks, now I wait.
The sun kisses us. Minor
twigs and branches ring.
Go, and rises to couples
vigorous morning aroma.