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mindthebook's review against another edition
4.0
Själv är jag nu en old poet med förvärvade livsvisdomar och egna tankar om kreativitet och the awesomeness of being bookish, men noterar titeln för kommande studentpresenter.
brig_berthold's review against another edition
4.0
I will need to run through this again in order to fully appreciate the layers of nuance contained in each message. I enjoyed the lessons, appreciate the writing, and want to ensure I fully capture what it has to offer.
Altogether, it was well worth my time.
Altogether, it was well worth my time.
ilohvu's review against another edition
4.75
“To be an artist means: not to calculate and count; to grow and ripen like a tree which does not hurry the flow of its sap and stands at ease in the spring gales without fearing that no summer may follow. It will come.”
soph_emi's review against another edition
4.0
I think the value of Rilke’s writing is in his frankness. He will carve open his own chest at the shallowest of prompts and feel no shame. And once you get over the horror and embarrassment of his vulnerability you see that the soul he’s bared resembles the parts of your own that you thought were the strangest.
julianpyre's review against another edition
5.0
“Nothing touches a work of art so little as words of criticism: they always result in more or less fortunate misunderstandings. Things aren’t all so tangible and sayable as people would usually have us believe; most experience is unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered, and more unsayable than all other things are works of art, those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life.”
As mentioned by Rilke himself, nothing touches a work of art so little as words of criticism. Hence, I will refrain from tainting this novel with my words of praise (which I do not think would even begin to match the appreciation I hold for this literary work). Read this. You won’t regret it.
“…love in them a form of life different from your own…”
“If it were possible for us to see further than our knowledge reaches, and a little beyond the outworks of our intuitions, perhaps we should then bear our sadness with greater assurance than our joys. For they are the moments when something new enters into us, something unknown to us; our feelings, shy and inhibited, fall silent, everything in us withdraws, a stillness settles on us, and at the centre of it is the new presence that nobody yet knows, making no sound.”
As mentioned by Rilke himself, nothing touches a work of art so little as words of criticism. Hence, I will refrain from tainting this novel with my words of praise (which I do not think would even begin to match the appreciation I hold for this literary work). Read this. You won’t regret it.
“…love in them a form of life different from your own…”
“If it were possible for us to see further than our knowledge reaches, and a little beyond the outworks of our intuitions, perhaps we should then bear our sadness with greater assurance than our joys. For they are the moments when something new enters into us, something unknown to us; our feelings, shy and inhibited, fall silent, everything in us withdraws, a stillness settles on us, and at the centre of it is the new presence that nobody yet knows, making no sound.”