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Citati iz knjige „Letters to a Young Poet“ autora Rainer Maria Rilke

You are so young, you have not even begun, and I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything that is unsolved in your heart and to try to cherish the questions themselves
In making contact with a work of art nothing serves so ill as words of criticism: the invariable result is more or less happy misunderstandings
The more patient, quiet and open we are in our sorrowing, the more deeply and the more unhesitatingly will the new thing enter us, the better shall we deserve it, the more will it be our own destiny, and when one day later it “happens” (that is, goes forth from us to others) we shall feel in our inmost selves that we are akin and close to it. And that is necessary.
Therefore, dear Sir, love your solitude12 and bear the pain which it has caused you with fair-sounding lament
You are so young, you have not even begun, and I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything that is unsolved in your heart and to try to cherish the questions themselves, like closed rooms and like books written in a very strange tongue. Do not search now for the answers which cannot be given you because you could not live them.
But your solitude will be your home and haven even in the midst of very strange conditions, and from there you will discover all your paths
Avoid furnishing material for the drama which is always impending between parents and children; it uses up much of the children’s strength and wastes away the love of their elders, which is operative and warm even when it does not comprehend. Demand no advice from them and reckon with no understanding; but believe in a love that is preserved for you like a heritage, and trust that in this love there is a strength and a blessing which you are not bound to leave behind
If your everyday life seems poor to you, do not accuse it; accuse yourself, tell yourself you are not poet enough to summon up its riches; since for the creator there is no poverty and no poor or unimportant place.
Nobody can advise and help you, nobody. There is only one single means. Go inside yourself. Discover the motive that bids you write; examine whether it sends its roots down to the deepest places of your heart, confess to yourself whether you would have to die if writing were denied you. This before all: ask yourself in the quietest hour of your night: must I write? Dig down into yourself for a deep answer. And if this should be in the affirmative, if you may meet this solemn question with a strong and simple “I must”, then build your life according to this necessity; your life must, right to its most unimportant and insignificant hour, become a token and a witness of this impulse.
Get hold of the little volume called Six Tales by J. P. Jacobsen, and his novel Niels Lyhne, and start with the first story in the former book, which is called Mogen
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