Beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure, and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
I am too alone in the world and not alone enough to make every moment holy.
I hold this to be the highest task of a bond between two people: that each shall stand guard over the solitude of the other. For, if it lies in the nature of indifference and of the crowd to recognize no solitude, then love and friendship are there for the purpose of continually providing the opportunity for solitude. And only those are the true sharings which rhythmically interrupt periods of deep isolation.
When we are only victorious over small things, it leaves us feeling small.
only someone who is ready for everything, who doesn't exclude any experience, even the most incomprehensible, will live the relationship with another person as something alive and will himself sound the depths of his own being.
Our heart always transcends us.
Fame is finally only the sum total of all the misunderstanding that can gather around a new name.
That’s love: Two lonely persons keep each other safe and touch each other and talk to each other.
Works of art always spring from those who have faced the danger, gone to the very end of an experience, to the point beyond which no human being can go. The further one dares to go, the more decent, the more personal, the more unique a life becomes.
I want to unfold. I don’t want to stay folded anywhere, because where I am folded, there I am a lie.
I live my life in widening circles that reach out across the world.
And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us, new, untouched, full of things that have never been, full of work that has never been done, full of tasks, claims, and demands; and let us see that we learn to take it without letting fall too much of what it has to bestow upon those who demand of it necessary, serious, and great things.
Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, seperate, in the evening.
They, who passed away long ago, still exist in us, as predisposition, as burden upon our fate, as murmuring blood, and as gesture that rises up from the depths of time.
All things want to float.
Success, which is something so simple in the end, is made up of thousands of things, we never fully know what.
A billion stars go spinning through the night, / glittering above your head, / But in you is the presence that will be / when all the stars are dead.
I live not in dreams but in contemplation of a reality that is perhaps the future.
I am the rest between two notes which are somehow always in discord.
Who has not sat before his own heart's curtain? It lifts: and the scenery is falling apart.
I learn it every day of my life, learn it with pain I am grateful for: patience is everything!
It is a tremendous act of violence to begin anything. I am not able to begin. I simply skip what should be the beginning.
If, when you wake up in the morning, you can think of nothing but writing . . . then you are a writer.
You, darkness, of whom I am born- I love you more than the flame that limits the world to the circle it illumines and excludes the rest.
You see, I want a lot. Perhaps I want everything the darkness that comes with every infinite fall and the shivering blaze of every step up. So many live on and want nothing And are raised to the rank of prince By the slippery ease of their light judgments But what you love to see are faces that do work and feel thirst. You love most of all those who need you as they need a crowbar or a hoe. You have not grown old, and it is not too late To dive into your increasing depths where life calmly gives out its own secret.
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