Dejan Stojanovic Quotes - Page 5

Great poets are great copy editors.

From what you didn’t say, lies that you did say.

He tries to find the exit from himself but there is no door.

Every thought about death takes a moment of life away.

We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.

A big desire is not enough to meet the expectations of lost dreams.

Everybody talks, but there is no conversation.

Through words to the meaning of thoughts with no words.

To hear never-heard sounds, To see never-seen colors and shapes, To try to understand the imperceptible Power pervading the world; To fly and find pure ethereal substances That are not of matter But of that invisible soul pervading reality. To hear another soul and to whisper to another soul; To be a lantern in the darkness Or an umbrella in a stormy day; To feel much more than know. To be the eyes of an eagle, slope of a mountain; To be a wave understanding the influence of the moon; To be a tree and read the memory of the leaves; To be an insignificant pedestrian on the streets Of crazy cities watching, watching, and watching. To be a smile on the face of a woman And shine in her memory As a moment saved without planning.

No reason for a feverish rush For we will all arrive in the same place At the right time. Justice will be served. There will be no better or worse, No big and small, no rewards, no punishment, No guilt, no judges, no hierarchies; Only silent equality.

In the lie of truth lies the truth.

It is beautiful to express love and even more beautiful to feel it.

There are too many literati, yet very few are smart; knowledge is acquired far too easily.

Infinity is the end. End without infinity is but a new beginning.

In greatness, life and death merge.

There are those who speak and those who dream.

In an endless silence even screams sound silent.

From whichever side I start, I think I am in an old place where others have been before me.

Through memory to knowledge on the way to stars that are stepping down to the stuffy rooms of modern bureaucrats, illuminating their ceilings, their horizons where everything is easily resolved by the piles of paper and recipes for how to live, create, run, eat, breathe, learn how to love, how to make love, how to sleep, how to dream, how happiness is achieved under the artificial stars of the new sky that emerged from the bureaucratic rooms of aspiring and impotent minds, unable to love, even though they had all their life to learn what they preach.

Courage is more important than to be deceived by shallow victory waiting for a delayed defeat.

One hand I extend into myself, the other toward others.

Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.

We like to admit to only that which already glows, although it is nobler to support brightness before it glows, not afterwards.

He did not profess to anybody how to reach others without professing.

Anyone who writes can be called a writer because they write.

To leave out beautiful sunsets is the secret of good taste.

In the biggest and the smallest I sleep but at the same place I stay.

We love the imperfect shapes in nature and in the works of art, look for an intentional error as a sign of the golden key and sincerity found in true mastery.

Every star was once darker than the night, before it awoke.

I am the shore and the ocean, awaiting myself on both sides.

Either you will be you or you will not be at all.

A star needs a star.

In trying to be perfect, He perfected the art of anonymity, Became imperceptible And arrived nowhere from nowhere.

Marquez was not born in Colombia.He was born in Macondo, And his Macondo is his La Mancha.

Omnipotence and omniscience are the end of power and knowledge.

There is nobody to wake up eternal seekers.

Knowing how to dream is more important than the story, because the story tells itself.

Sunbathe from within.

I lose faith in mathematics, logical and rigid. What with those that even zero doesn’t accept?

The length of novels, poems and stories, is measured by the number of missing words; a thousand pages become one, one becomes a thousand.

Neruda had his first dream, First meeting with the Moon and the Sun In sunny La Mancha, hiding in his heart,Where he learned how to sing like a nightingale.

When the long bygone Lee Po wanted to say something, he could do it with only a few words.

There are no clear borders, Only merging invisible to the sight.

It is enough to write a few lines about tanks in the streets in some sad country, about a clear injustice, which requires no description; it is enough to move from one side to another, to satisfy someone’s taste, the need of the moment, the need for “big” games to take a peek into everything and to prove everything with cheap opinions formed almost on command, almost as a recipe of measured pain to resolve the crisis, to extinguish the pain based on a few words that don’t change anything except that they flatter vanity and a misguided interest in all dimensions of life and creation, in the air that is being poisoned by smoke from cars, smoke from the television screens, the smoke curtains of politicians, left and right, the smoke of films and pop culture, smokescreens of intelligence that finds an explanation for all this, makes up theories, finds justification for the schizophrenic decisions of the new rulers, for wars, agreements, contracts; finds justification for obedience, for the sale of beliefs under the disguise of conviction, for several awards, for a few moments of illusion in the hocus-pocus world where the truth does not interest anyone anymore, except for ways for lies to be packaged and sold as the greatest truth with the help of big intellectuals that will find a good argument, a good defense and justification for everything, since everything becomes much easier, if a hoax is supported by “scientific” evidence.

Trying too hard to be too good, even when trying to be bad, is too good for the bad, too bad for the good.

To risk life to save a smile on a face of a woman or a child is the secret of chivalry.

A word into the silence thrown always finds its echo somewhere where silence opens hidden lexicons.

Oblivion cures the old wounds.

Arrival in the world is really a departure and that, which we call departure, is only a return.

The deeper thought is, the taller it becomes.

He knows he will be born again, And start fresh anew.

Absolute is a game with only one player where Absolute forgets itself so it would have a reason to fulfill the motion while returning.

Statesmen are grocers, ambitious clowns.

To cut and tighten sentences is the secret of mastery.

It is not important what happens where; Where we fall or rise, What we conquer or lose, How big or small we are.

The same word we love and hate, leaves in different directions, taking different paths.

It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.

All people are enslaved by something.

Although all days are equally long regardless of the season, some days are long not only seasonally but by rewards they offer.

Devil and God – two sides of the same face.