#Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers

[majestativa]

Love is holy, a communion of saints. Knowing his human limitations, he is therefore afraid of it.

— Rimvydas Šilbajoris, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

As if a murderer, with bloody hands, [...] in my thought, I trod the ancient path of love.

— Jonas Aistis, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

Mephistopheles and Faust walked in spirit by my side.

— Henrikas Radauskas, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

Nothing but black ink, and these black thoughts of mine. They discovered you there, found in them my love.

— Jonas Aistis, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

Again we meet [...] I have yearned so much for you.

— Jonas Aistis, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

The clock is keeping time for those who live, The spider hangs a net between the stars.

— Henrikas Radauskas, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

As if a thunder, hoarse and far away, the unclear call of the primeval word, and then, like lava, love and deep desire break out, like sun, in cadences of verse.

— Jonas Aistis, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

The angel, having entered the hearth, transforms himself to smoke and fire and ash.

— Henrikas Radauskas, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

The fragrant dreams of lilacs in the night of May!

— Jonas Aistis, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

Black drops of blood under the thorns – my head … Oh, love – the evening drawn in lines of sorrow.

— Jonas Aistis, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

The work of his intellect is clearly inspired by passion – not a passion to preach of to proclaim some eternal verities but passion for life itself, in all its transmutations, including that of death.

— Rimvydas Šilbajoris, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, on Henrikas Radauskas, (1970)

[majestativa]

The amber towers, reaching for the sky – in them she lives; the ancient lindens whisper to her quietly, to princess mine.

— Jonas Aistis, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

The stars so sorrowful and falling, […] A night like this deserves the pen of Flammarion.

— Jonas Aistis, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

The holy light of sainthood fades like an immaterial mask from his own hidden desires and fears, and everything turns into a foul and evil caricature.

— Rimvydas Šilbajoris, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

A lunatic love you taught me.

— Jonas Aistis, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, (1970)

[majestativa]

Perfect suffering is pain beyond enduring, made from the same rare jewels that went into the making of the kingdom of heaven. This may well be the essence of Škėma’s perception of the world. When spiritualized, this suffering is the goal toward which man strives in Škėma’s works. This is why death is needed, for it is the ecstasy which raises man to his highest degree of perfection.

— Rimvydas Šilbajoris, Perfection of Exile: Fourteen Contemporary Lithuanian Writers, on Antanas Škėma, (1970)