Schlagwort: quote

Hearts full of mean­ness

Of The Empire

Kunststoff-Stühle im WaldWe will be known as a cul­tu­re that feared death and ado­red power, that tried to van­quish inse­cu­ri­ty for the few and cared litt­le for the pen­ury of the many. We will be known as a cul­tu­re that taught and reward­ed the amas­sing of things, that spo­ke litt­le if at all about the qua­li­ty of life for peo­p­le (other peo­p­le), for dogs, for rivers. All the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a com­mo­di­ty. And they will say that this struc­tu­re was held tog­e­ther poli­ti­cal­ly, which it was, and they will say also that our poli­tics was no more than an appa­ra­tus to accom­mo­da­te the fee­lings of the heart, and that the heart, in tho­se days, was small, and hard, and full of mean­ness.

© 2008 by Mary Oli­ver
From her 2008 coll­ec­tion, Red Bird, p. 46
Published by Bea­con Press 2008

Who is that on the other side of you

“Who is the third who walks always bes­i­de you?
When I count, the­re are only you and I tog­e­ther
But when I look ahead up the white road
The­re is always ano­ther one wal­king bes­i­de you
Gli­ding wrapt in a brown man­t­le, hoo­ded
I do not know whe­ther a man or a woman
— But who is that on the other side of you?”

T.S. Eli­ot (The Waste Land)

Dark­ness touch­ed her

“That night, after she’d screa­med into her crumpled blan­ket for a long time and final­ly pun­ched a hole through the dark­ness into that other place whe­re the ans­wers came from, the dark­ness began to speak to her, its voice more distinct than she had ever heard it befo­re. The dark­ness touch­ed her. Its touch was hard and warm, but somehow com­fort­ing, as if strong, invi­si­ble hands car­essed her.”

[Excerpt: Schweit­zer, Dar­rell: Some­ti­mes you have to shout about it]

Guar­di­ans of our own fears

“May­be tra­di­ti­on and ghosts are just rem­nants of a past you refu­se to lea­ve behind. We do not learn from the past, we just keep the­se rem­nants. And we put our faith in them. And with faith we crea­te tho­se spi­rits and spells, and beco­me zea­lous guar­di­ans of our own fears.”

[Dési­rée Bres­send, Call of the Sui­ci­de Forest, Heft 5]

Poli­ti­cal Cor­rect­ness

“Mer­ry Christ­mas,” Todd said, and they clin­ked glas­ses.
“So you’re a ‘mer­ry Christ­mas’ and not a ‘hap­py holi­days’ kind of guy, huh?”
“I’m sor­ry, did I offend you?”
“Not at all. It’s refres­hing. I’m so sick of poli­ti­cal cor­rect­ness. I’m suf­fo­ca­ted by it. We’re so god­damn poli­ti­cal­ly cor­rect that we lose our indi­vi­dua­lism, our defi­ni­ti­on as human beings.”

[R. Mal­fi – Snow]

In die­sem Sin­ne: Fro­he Weih­nach­ten euch da drau­ßen!

This bleak, rus­ty machi­ne we call life.

“The­re is a word in Japa­ne­se, yugen, that has no Eng­lish equi­va­lent. In Japa­ne­se, it is the awa­re­ness that the uni­ver­se trans­mits a pro­found and myste­rious beau­ty that can only be under­s­tood by the man or woman enga­ged in the com­pa­ra­ble beau­ty of human suf­fe­ring. (…) This bleak, rus­ty machi­ne we call life. This unex­pec­ted beau­ty.”

[R. Mal­fi, Come with me]

Cookie Consent Banner von Real Cookie Banner