Schlagwort: Zitat

Das Leben ist eine Sinn­lo­sig­keit (Tol­stoi)

“Leben kann man nur, solan­ge man vom Leben berauscht ist; sobald man ernüch­tert ist, muß man sehen, daß all dies nur eine Täu­schung ist, und eine dum­me Täu­schung! (…) Die Wahr­heit war: Das Leben ist eine Sinn­lo­sig­keit. Ich leb­te gleich­sam so dahin, ging und ging mei­nen Weg, war an einen Abgrund gekom­men und sah deut­lich, daß nichts vor mir lag als Ver­der­ben. Ein Still­ste­hen war unmög­lich, ein Zurück war unmög­lich. Es war auch unmög­lich, die Augen zu schlie­ßen, um nicht zu sehen, daß nichts als Lei­den und der leib­haf­ti­ge Tod vor mir lag – die völ­li­ge Ver­nich­tung. (…) Alles Übri­ge ist Lüge.”

Leo Tol­stoi, Mei­ne Beich­te (Aus­zug)

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]

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]

Und das ist Leben (Ril­ke)

Das ist die Sehn­sucht: woh­nen im Gewo­ge
und kei­ne Hei­mat haben in der Zeit.
Und das sind Wün­sche: lei­se Dia­lo­ge
täg­li­cher Stun­den mit der Ewig­keit.

Und das ist Leben. Bis aus einem Gestern
die ein­sam­ste Stun­de steigt,
die, anders lächelnd als die andern Schwe­stern,
dem Ewi­gen ent­ge­gen­schweigt.

[R. M. Ril­ke]

Des­pair

“For the sad­ness gene­ra­ted by the Dream was almost more than he could bear, a deep des­pair that nega­ted ever­ything good that had hap­pen­ed in his life, that wiped out the joy of his wife and his child­ren and brought him back emo­tio­nal­ly to that dark, dark day.

The fear was bad, but it was far pre­fera­ble.
He expe­ri­en­ced that fear now, an emo­tio­nal vesti­ge of the Dream even more lasting than the night­ma­re images that remain­ed in his head. It was ter­ror and panic and impo­tence and fru­stra­ti­on, all knot­ted tog­e­ther in a sin­gle over­whel­ming fee­ling that would not got away.”

[Bent­ley Litt­le, The Haun­ted]

Base­ment

“He real­ly lik­ed the base­ment. It was like being in ano­ther world, while kno­wing that the other world was still the­re out­side, abo­ve you, if you nee­ded it. But down here it was quiet, and no one came and said anything, did anything to you. Not­hing you had to do.”

John Ajvi­de Lind­q­vist, ‘Let the Right One in’

Thou canst not hear the songs of my dark­ness

“When it is day with thee, my fri­end, it is night with me; yet even then I speak of the noon­ti­de that dances upon the hills and of the pur­ple shadow that ste­als its way across the val­ley; for thou canst not hear the songs of my dark­ness nor see my wings bea­ting against the stars—and I fain would not have thee hear or see. I would be with night alo­ne.”

[Kha­lil Gibran: Com­ple­te Works; Aus­zug aus: The Mad­man]

Sta­ring eyes

“The only con­stant was his eyes. Sta­ring into them, I saw not­hing. No emo­ti­on. No huma­ni­ty. In every pho­to­graph, the eyes (…) were dark blanks that reve­a­led not­hing. A say­ing I’d heard long ago came to mind: When you sta­re into the abyss, the abyss also sta­res into you.”

[R. Sager: Home Befo­re Dark]

(Fiel mir erst nach­träg­lich ein: klei­ner Ver­weis zum Gedicht Ich faß­te dei­ne Hand.)

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