Robinson Jeffers Quotes
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Truly men hate the truth; they'd liefer meet a tiger on the road.
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Nature knows that people are a tide that swells and in time will ebb, and all their works dissolve ... As for us: We must uncenter our minds from ourselves. We must unhumanize our views a little and become confident as the rock and ocean that we are made from.
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Corruption never has been compulsory; when the cities lie at the monster's feet there are left the mountains.
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The tides are in our veins, we still mirror the stars, life is your child, but there is in me Older and harder than life and more impartial, the eye that watched before there was an ocean.
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A little too abstract, a little too wise, It is time for us to kiss the earth again, It is time to let the leaves rain from the skies, Let the rich life run to the roots again.
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Hear the music, the thunder of the wings. Love the wild swan.
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Death's a fierce meadowlark: but to die having made / Something more equal to the centuries / Than muscle and bone, is mostly to shed weakness.
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The cold passion for truth hunts in no pack.
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Long live freedom and damn the ideologies.
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Happy people die whole, they are all dissolved in a moment, they have had what they wanted.
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Poetry is not a civilizer, rather the reverse, for great poetry appeals to the most primitive instincts.
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I hate my verses, every line, every word. Oh pale and brittle pencils ever to try One grass-blade's curve, or the throat of one bird That clings to twig, ruffled against white sky. Oh cracked and twilight mirrors ever to catch One color, one glinting flash, of the splendor of things.
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It seems to me that this whole alone is worthy of the deeper sort of love; and that there is peace, freedom, I might say a kind of salvation, in turning one's affections outward toward this one God, rather than inwards on one's self, or on humanity, or on human imaginations and abstractions - the world of the spirits.
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There is no reason for amazement: surely one always knew that cultures decay, and life's end is death.
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...Science and mathematics Run parallel to reality, they symbolize it, they squint at it, They never touch it: consider what an explosion Would rock the bones of men into little white fragments and unsky the world If any mind for a moment touch truth.
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I believe that the universe is one being, all its parts are different expressions of the same energy... parts of one organic whole.... (This is physics, I believe, as well as religion.) The parts change and pass, or die, people and races and rocks and stars; none of them seems to me important in itself, but only the whole. This whole is in all its parts so beautiful, and is felt by me to be so intensely in earnest, that I am compelled to love it, and to think of it as divine.
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God is a lion that comes in the night. God is a hawk gliding among the stars-- If all the stars and the earth, and the living flesh of the night that flows in between them, and whatever is beyond them Were that one bird. He has a bloody beak and harsh talons, he pounces and tears.
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You making haste on decay: not blameworthy; life is good, be it stubbornly long or suddenly A mortal splendor: meteors are not needed less than mountains: shine, perishing republic.
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Only the drum is confident, it thinks the world has not changed
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Humanity is the start of the race; I say Humanity is the mould to break away from, the crust to break through, the coal to break into fire, The atom to be split.
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Imagination, the traitor of the mind, has taken my solitude and slain it.
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The love of freedom has been the quality of Western man.
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This wild swan of a world is no hunter's game.
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The heads of strong old age are beautiful beyond all grace of youth.
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The tides are in our veins.
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Cruelty is a part of nature, at least of human nature, but it is the one thing that seems unnatural to us.
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It is only a little planet, but how beautiful it is.
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The world's in a bad way, my man, And bound to be worse before it mends; Better lie up in the mountain here Four or five centuries, While the stars go over the lonely ocean.
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Know that however ugly the parts appear the whole remains beautiful.
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Shiva... is the only hunter that will ever catch the wild swan; The prey she will take last is the wild white swan of the beauty of things. Then she will be alone, pure destruction, achieved and supreme, Empty darkness under the death-tent wings. She will build a nest of the swan's bones and hatch a new brood, Hang new heavens with new birds, all be renewed.
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