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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=124981" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Great Man's House</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=124981" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It was written in marble in golden letters:<br>here a great man lived and worked and died.<br>He laid the gravel for these paths personally.<br>This bench — do not touch — he chiseled by himself<br>out of stone.<br>And — careful, three steps — we're going inside.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=124981" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He made it into the world at just the right time.<br>Everything that had to pass, passed in this house.<br>Not in a high rise,<br>not in square feet, furnished yet empty,<br>amidst unknown neighbors,<br>on some fifteenth floor,<br>where it's hard to drag school field trips.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=124981" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">In this room he pondered,<br>in this chamber he slept,<br>and over here he entertained guests.<br>Portraits, an armchair, a desk, a pipe, a globe, a flute,<br>a worn-out rug, a sun room.<br>From here he exchanged nods with his tailor and<br>shoemaker<br>who custom made for him.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=124981" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">This is not the same as photographs in boxes,<br>dried out pens in a plastic cup,<br>a store-bought wardrobe in a store-bought closet,<br>a window, from which you can see clouds better<br>than people.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=124981" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Happy? Unhappy?<br>That's not relevant here.<br>He still confided in his letters,<br>without thinking they would be opened on their<br>way.<br>He still kept a detailed and honest diary,<br>without the fear that he would lose it during a<br>search.<br>The passing of a comet worried him most.<br>The destruction of the world was only in the hands<br>of God.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=124981" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He still managed not to die in the hospital,<br>behind a white screen, who knows which one.<br>There was still someone with him who remembered<br>his muttered words.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=124981" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He partook of life<br>as if it were reusable:<br>he sent his books to be bound;<br>he wouldn't cross out the last names of the dead from<br>his address book.<br>And the trees he had planted in the garden behind<br>the house<br>grew for him as Juglans regia<br>and Quercus rubra and Ulmus and Larix<br>and Fraxinus excelsior.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Wislawa+Szymborska">Wislawa Szymborska</a></strong></div>