211 Quotes by Jane Hirshfield

You work with what you are given, the red clay of grief, the black clay of stubbornness going on after.

It doesn’t matter what they will make of youor your days: they will be wrong,they will miss the wrong woman, miss the wrong man,all the stories they tell will be tales of their own invention.Your story was this: you were happy, then you were sad,you slept, you awakened.

ChinaWhales followthe whale-roads.Geese, roads of magnetized air.To go great distance,exactitudes matter.Yet how oftenthe heartthat set out for Peruarrives in China,Steering hard.consulting the chartsthe whole journey.

The heat of autumn is different from the heat of summer. One ripens apples, the other turns them to cider."[Autumn]

The fairy tales warn you:Do not go in,you who would eat will be eaten.

Here is a soul, accepting nothing.

There the beloved red sweater,bright tangle of necklace, earrings of amber.Each confirming: I chose these, I.But habit is different: it chooses.And we, it's good horse,opening our mouths at even the sight of the bit.

Tenderness does not choose its own uses.It goes out to everything equally,circling rabbit and hawk.Look: in the iron bucket,a single nail, a single ruby -all the heavens and hells.They rattle in the heart and make one sound.

TreeIt is foolishto let a young redwoodgrow next to a house.Even in this one lifetime,you will have to choose.That great calm being,this clutter of soup pots and books--Already the first branch-tips brush at the window.Softly, calmly, immensity taps at your life.