Life’s splendor forever lies in wait about each one of us in all its fullness, but veiled from view, deep down, invisible, far off. It is there, though, not hostile, not reluctant, not deaf. If you summon it by the right word, by its right name, it will come.
Who has the gift to recognize beauty, will not live long
Don’t despair, not even over the fact that you don’t despair.
It is often safer to be in chains than to be free.
Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.
A book should serve as the ax for the frozen sea within us.
What have I in common with Jews? I have hardly anything in common with myself
All knowledge, the totality of all questions and all answers is contained in the dog
If the French were German in their essence, then how the Germans would admire them!
In the struggle between yourself and the world second the world.
If I could drown in sleep as I drown in fear I would be no longer alive.
The spirit becomes free only when it ceases to be a support.
É bom quando nossa consciência sofre grandes ferimentos, pois isso a torna mais sensível a cada estímulo. Penso que devemos ler apenas livros que nos ferem, que nos afligem. Se o livro que estamos lendo não nos desperta como um soco no cr nio, por que perder tempo lendo-o? Para que ele nos torne felizes,...
I felt so weak and unhappy that I buried my face in the ground: I could not bear the strain of seeing around me the things of the earth. I felt convinced that every movement and every thought was forced, and that one had to be on one’s guard against them.
We need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.
She is so distinct to me, it’s as though I had run my hands all over her.
Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.
My ”fear”… is my substance, and probably the best part of me.
You once said that you would like to sit beside me while I write. Listen, in that case I could not write at all. For writing means revealing oneself to excess; that utmost of self-revelation and surrender, in which a human being, when involved with others, would feel he was losing himself, and from which,...
In the fight between you and the world, back the world.
I can prove at any time that my education tried to make another person out of me than the one I became. It is for the harm, therefore, that my educators could have done me in accordance with their intentions that I reproach them; I demand from their hands the person I now am, and...
Believing in progress does not mean believing that any progress has yet been made.
How can one take delight in the world unless one flees to it for refuge?