"Gdzieśkolwiek jest, jeśliś jest, lituj mej żałości. A niemożeszli w onej dawnej swej całości, Pociesz mię, jako możesz, a staw się przedemną, Lubo snem, lubo cieniem, lub marą nikczemną."

"A my rozumy swoje przedsię udać chcemy, Hardzi między prostaki, że nic nie umiemy."

"Wy, którzy pospolitą rzeczą władacie, A ludzką sprawiedliwość w ręku trzymacie, Wy mówię, którym ludzi paść poruczono I zwierzchności nad stadem bożem zwierzono, Miejcie to przed oczyma zawżdy swojemi, Żeście miejsce zasiedli boże na ziemi, Z którego macie nie tak swe własne rzeczy, Jako wszytek ludzki mieć rodzaj na pieczy. A wam więc nad mniejszymi zwierzchność jest dana: Ale i sami macie nad sobą pana, Któremu kiedyżkolwiek z spraw swych uczynić Poczet macie, trudnoż tam krzywemu wynidź. Nie bierze ten pan darów, ani się pyta; Jeśli kto chłop, czyli się grofem poczyta? W siermiędzeli go widzi, w złotychli głowach: Jeśli namniej przewinił, bydź mu w okowach. Więc ja podobno z mniejszem niebezpieczeństwem Grzeszę, bo sam się tracę swem wszeteczeństwem; Przełożonych występy miasta zgubiły I szerokie do gruntu carstwa zniszczyły."

"Zyskiem człowiek zwać musi, w czem nie popadł szkody."

"My, nieposłuszne, Panie, dzieci Twoje, W szczęśliwe czasy swoje Rzadko Cię wspominamy, Tylko rozkoszy zwykłych używamy."

"Wielkieś mi uczyniła pustki w domu moim, Moja droga Orszulko, tym zniknienim swoim! Pełno nas, a jakoby nikogo nie było: Jedną maluczką duszą tak wiele ubyło."

"Kupićby cię mądrości za drogie pieniądze, Która (jeśli prawdziwie mienią) wszystkie żądze, Wszystkie ludzkie frasunki umiesz wykorzenić."

"Czas doktór każdemu."

"I write in the same fashion that I live: My rhymes are drunken, for I love to drink. I like a revel and I like a jest, Sometimes a woman: such things fill my verse. And why pretend? The priest who strives to teach Me moderation, hides a devil within."

"Nieznajomy wróg jakiś miesza ludzkie rzeczy."

"O mnie Moskwa i będą wiedzieć Tatarowie I, różnego mieszkańcy świata, Anglikowie."

"Suwalki and adjoining areas, including Bukhsa, were the sites of numerous battles and pogroms. In fact, according to a word-of-mouth tale by Rosenfeld himself (to the family), on the day of his birth there was just such a battle in his hometown and the glass windows of his house were shattered while he was being born."

"He never castigated the masses the way he did “the bosses” and certain politicians. He knew he was directing his messages of hope and incitement to political action to a people quite capable of taking their lives into their own hands. This arousal by the fiery poet was responded to the way he had hoped. They loved his poetry and forensic skills. They read every polemical article he ever wrote and encouraged him to be bolder."

"The Jewish workers called Morris Rosenfeld the poet laureate of the slum and the sweatshop."

"The first school of modern Yiddish poets to arise were "the sweat-shop poets." Poets such as Morris Rosenfeld and Dovid Edelshtat spoke to the difficult experiences of the many Jews who emigrated to America. True proletarian poets who labored in factories, these writers were published in the Yiddish labor papers, recited their verse at union rallies and were regarded as heroes by an immigrant community suffering under the weight of rapid cultural disintegration and enforced proletarianization."

"It was in the damp, dark sweatshops of New York where I learned to sing of oppression, suffering and misery. During the day I worked and at night I wrote my poems."

"Seek me not 'mid blooming meadows, Not there my spirit can you trace, Where workers toil like spectral shadows, 'Tis there you’ll find my resting place. Seek me not where birds are singing, Not there my spirit can you trace, A slave am I, where chains are ringing, 'Tis there you’ll find my resting place. Seek me not 'mid fountains dashing, Not there my spirit can you trace, Where tears are falling, teeth are gnashing, 'Tis there you’ll find my resting place. And love’st thou me with love’s true passion Thy steps unto my spirit trace. Bring joy with thee; in love’s true fashion Make sweet to me my resting place."

"I have a little boy, a fine little fellow is he! When I see him, it appears to me the whole world is mine. Only rarely, rarely I see him, my pretty little son, when he is awake; I find him always asleep, I see him only at night. My work drives me out early and brings me home late; oh, my own flesh is a stranger to me! oh, strange to me the glances of my child!"

"The machines in the shop roar so wildly that often I forget in the roar that I am; I am lost in the terrible tumult, my ego disappears, I am a machine. I work, and work, and work without end; I am busy, and busy, and busy at all time. For what? and for whom? I know not, I ask not! How should a machine ever come to think?"

"When the work will have killed him another will be sitting in his place and sewing."

"The tick of the clock is the Boss in his anger! The face of the clock has the eyes of a foe; The clock—Oh, I shudder—dost hear how it drives me? It calls me “Machine!” and it cries to me “Sew!”"

"Restless rains ruffled the orchard, And we've been in this war for quite a few years. We'll go home, we'll light the stove, We'll feed the dog. We will make it before nightfall, only we will win, And this is an important game."

"Long live the ball, because this life is a ball above all balls, long live the ball, they won't invite us a second time, the orchestra is playing, they are still dancing and the doors are open, the day is worth the day and this life is worth the effort!"

"I'm dying For my sins and my innocence"

"I walk here, I walk there Always alone in a crowd of people."

"You will be happier with him, You will be much happier with him. Me, well – Vagabond, restless spirit, Only with me you can Go to the moor And forget everything."

"Anyone who has not crawled through the tunnel of loneliness does not know the taste of real life."

"Life is a theater."

"And I fell in love so terribly that, for example, I asked him to dance. It was the song "When I dance with you, the world smiles" and he turned me down. I immediately decided to commit suicide. And I remember that I decided to poison myself with gas. I let off the gas and decided to say goodbye to life. And then my mother called out "Agnieszka" or "Agusiu, soup on the table." And I moaned with the dying voice of a siren: "What soup?" And I heard from the kitchen: "Tomato soup." I decided to eat one more meal before I died and somehow this soup strengthened me so much that I am still alive today."

"And I prefer my mother, who has hair like ink, golden eyes like my teddy bear, and she cried this morning."

"I consider Cracow to be a small, pretentious, highly ridiculous town."

"You have to be of a special constitution to be able to live the way most people live. Work, home, sleep. Work, home, sleep. This is how you survive life. Baptism, wedding, funeral."

"I like the slipper better from you, you son of a bitch"

"You had, boor, a golden horn; you had, boor, a feathered cap... Now you're left with just a string."

"I see no reason for my existence here on earth."

"I have small towns in my asshole!"

"You didn't make me stutter a short-legged, epileptic dwarf hermaphrodite horse moss or anything from fauna and flora Thank You for this, Lord But why did you make me a Pole?"

"He must die, why he has to be alive?"

"Do something so that I can undress even more I have long since thrown away the last leaf of shame And the thinnest memory of the dress I have also washed away"

"Be my bra, panties, garter Be a cradle for my body, a nurse that rocks me Eat the dirt under my nails, drink my period blood"

"Be with me from head to toe, from heel to ear From knees to groin, from elbow to nails Under the armpit, under the tongue, from the clitoris to the eyelashes"

"And finally, give me at least some vodka to drink And then puke because poets should be used."

"I can't write a poem For it to be like this body body I can't think."

"Give me a broom to sweep the public square Or a woman to love and impregnate."

"I walk around and ask: where is my gallows?"

"Oh, if only we could catch this son of a bitch this world has invented for us."

"I'm only 42 years old, so I probably have a long time ahead of me. And wouldn't it be possible to meet death? Wouldn't that be normal in my situation?"

"Once upon a time, when I was still Edward Stachura, I thought that people live too long. That he should live one day like some butterflies. Or one year, from spring to winter. Schopenhauer says that, considering all the pros and cons, it would be better for man not to have been born. I'm 42 years old and I feel like I'm carrying 420 of them. I've lived hard. Something new every day. I didn't fall into any routine."

"More than dying, I wanted only one thing: to live."

"You could die like nothing else: To the veins There is a knife. Or down On the pavement From on high. But is it worth it? Maybe it's not worth it? I guess it's not worth it... No, no - it's not worth it."