'And he himself, as he lay there, relieved, with the sweetness
of the gentle world you had made for him dissolving beneath
his drowsy eyelids, into the foretaste of sleep —:
he seemed protected … But inside: who could ward off,
who could divert, the floods of origin inside him?
Ah, there was no trace of caution in that sleeper; sleeping,
yes but dreaming, but flushed with what fevers: how he threw himself in.
All at once new, trembling, how he was caught up
and entangled in the spreading tendrils of inner event
already twined into patterns, into strangling undergrowth, prowling
bestial shapes. How he submitted —. Loved.
Loved his interior world, his interior wilderness,
that primal forest inside him, where among decayed treetrunks
his heart stood, light-green. Loved.'
— Excerpt from Rainer Maria Rilke’s “The Third Elegy,” translated by Stephen Mitchell (via commovente
'All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.'
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'When it is raining, the sky is crying. When it is windy, the sky is screaming. When it is sunlit, the sky is smiling. And when it is lifeless and sombre, those are my favourite days.'
'But I don’t want comfort. I want poetry. I want danger. I want freedom. I want goodness. I want sin.'