Salvatore Quasimodo

20 Aug 1901 // 14 Jun 1968


The poet's evil influence? Perhaps, because no one ever fills the silence of those men who may read just one poem of a new poet, certainly not the fragile critic, who fears that a sequence of fifteen or twenty verses may be true.
My idea of beauty is embodied not only in harmony but also in dissonance, for even dissonance can attain the precision of a poetic form. Whether we think of painting or sculpture or music, the aesthetic, moral, and critical problems are the same; and likes and dislikes are similar.
The world today seems allied with the side opposed to poetry. And for the world, the poet's very presence is an obstacle to be overcome. He must be annihilated. The force of poetry, on the other hand, fans out in every direction in organized societies; and if literary games escape the sensibilities of men everywhere, a poetic activity that is inspired by humanism does not.


On Anger: "For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind."
On Destiny: "Our destiny exercises its influence over us even when, as yet, we have not learned its nature: it is our future that lays down the law of our today."
Human, All Too Human
On Friendship: "A crowd is not company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love."