Wild honey smells of freedom The dust - of sunlight The mouth of a young girl, like a violet But gold - smells of nothing.
Not, not mine: it's somebody else's wound; I could never have borne it. So take the thing that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground; whisk the lamps away.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote reflects on the emotional burden of others' suffering and the desire to conceal painful experiences.
In this quote, Anna Akhmatova explores the deep emotional impact of wounds that do not belong to oneself, suggesting a profound empathy for others' pain. By advocating for the act of burying these painful memories and hiding them away, the quote speaks to the human tendency to distance oneself from sorrowful experiences that are not directly ours, emphasizing the complexity of shared grief and the struggle to cope with it.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
During a speech on mental health, you might say, 'As Akhmatova beautifully stated, we often bear others' wounds in our hearts. Let's address that collective pain.'
More from Anna Akhmatova
All quotes βAnd you know, I agree to everything: I will condemn, I will forget, I will give comfort to the enemy, Darkness will be light and sin lovely.
Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem too insignificant for our concern? Yet in my heart I never will deny her, Who suffered death because she chose to turn.
I myself, from the very beginning, Seemed to myself like someone's dream or delirium Or a reflection in someone else's mirror, Without flesh, without meaning, without a name. Already I knew the list of crimes That I was destined to commit.
If you were music I would listen to you ceaselessly And my low spirits would brighten up.
I know beginnings, I know endings too, and life-in-death, and something else I'd rather not recall just now.
Similar quotes
Our brains have been designed to blur the line between self and other. It is an ancient neural circuitry that marks every mammal, from mouse to elephant.
Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try.
It is when we try to grapple with another man's intimate need that we perceive how incomprehensible, wavering and misty are the beings that share with us the sight of the stars and the warmth of the sun. It is as if loneliness were a hard and absolute condition of existence; the envelope of flesh and blood on which our eyes are fixed melts before the outstretched hand, and there remains only the capricious, unconsolable and elusive spirit that no eye can follow, no hand can grasp.
Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs.
To forge an untouchable, invulnerable identity is actually a sign of retreat from this world; of weakness, a sign of fear rather than strength, and betrays a strange misunderstandin g of an abiding, foundational and necessary reality: that untouched, we disappear.
To catch the real meaning of the Spirit of Christmas, we need only drop the last syllable, and it becomes the Spirit of Christ.