Rainer Maria Rilke Quotes

Look, I am living. On what? Neither childhood nor futurelessens . . . . Superabundant existencewells in my heart.

Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.

Angels often do now know whether they walk among the dead or living.

Wishes are memories coming from our future!

That is fundamentally the only courage which is demanded of us: to be brave in the face of the strangest, most singular and most inexplicable things that can befall us

perhaps we would bear our sadnesses with greater trust than we have in our joys

It seems to him there area thousand bars, and behind the bars, no world.

Let your judgements have their own quiet, undisturbed development, which must, like all progress, come from deep within, and cannot in any way be pressed or hurried.

Have patience with everything unresolved in you heart and try to love the questions themselves. It is possible to live and not know.

Perhaps everything terrible is, in its deepest being, something that needs our love.

For even the best err in words when they are meant to mean most delicate and almost inexpressible things.

No, my life is not this precipitous hourthrough which you see me passing at a run.

What an unilateral life, when from the material of a renunciation, we must fashion something we love.

Children are still the way you were as a child, sad and happy in just the same way--and if you think of your childhood, you once again live among them, among the solitary children.

Art is childhood.

It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.

We are solitary. We can delude ourselves about this and act as if it were not true. That is all.

At first the solitudecharmed me like a prelude, but so much music wounded me.

And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far into the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.

Then suddenly you’re left all alonewith your body that can’t love youand your will that can’t save you.

It is necessary - and toward this point our development will move, little by little - that nothing alien happen to us, but only what has long been our own.

If, when you wake up in the morning, you can think of nothing but writing then you are a writer”"Se alla mattina quando ti alzi non pensi altro che allo scrivere allora sei uno scrittore

Everything that has been wrestled from doubtI welcome-the mouths that burst open afterlong knowledge of what it is to be mute.

Death is our friend, precisely because it brings us into absolute and passionate presence with all that is here, that is natural, that is love.

Works of art are infinitely solitary and nothing is less likely to reach them than criticism. Only love can grasp them and hold them and do them justice.

Read the lines as if they were unknown to you, and you will feel in your inmost self how very much they are yours.

If you think your world isn’t poetic enough, or exciting enough to tell a story about, that’s not because it’s a dull world, that’s because you’re not poet enough to wake its soul up.

How he loved and yetwished to leave you: always both, at once.

Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.

In the room...they are inside the books. They move sometimes within the pages, like sleepers turning over between two dreams.

I believe that that love remains strong and intense in your memory because it was your first deep aloneness and the first inner work that you did on your life.

Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. ...live in the question.

For we, when we feel, evaporate: oh, webreathe ourselves out and away: from ember to ember, yielding us fainter fragrance.

Praise, my dear one.Let us disappear into praising.Nothing belongs to us.

We only pass everything by like a transposition of air.

If your daily life seems poor do not blame it blame yourself tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches.

Our being is continually undergoing and entering upon changes. ... We must strictly speaking at every moment give each other up and let each other go and not hold each other back.

That is the principal thing: not to remain with the dream with the intention with the being in the mood but always forcibly to convert it into all things.

The gnarled fidelity of an old habit.

Nothing in this world can one imagine beforehand not the least thing. Everything is made up of so many unique particulars that cannot be foreseen.

For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of our tasks the ultimate the last test and proof the work for which all other work is but preparation.

This is the miracle that happens every time to those who really love the more they give the more they possess.

Love consists in this that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.

Oh longing for places that were not Cherished enough in that fleeting hour How I long to make good from afar The forgotten gesture the additional act.

Everyone once once only. Just once and no more. And we also once. Never again.

Wanting to change to improve a person's situation means offering him for difficulties in which he is practiced and experienced other difficulties that will find him perhaps even more bewildered.

Who's not sat tense before his own heart's curtain?

Believe that with your feelings and your work you are taking part in the greatest the more strongly you cultivate this belief the more will reality and the world go forth from it.

Success which is something so simple in the end is made up of thousands of things we never fully know what.

Nothing in the world can one imagine beforehand not the least thing. Everything is made up of so many unique particulars that cannot be foreseen.