'Yes, Siddhartha,' he said. 'Is this what you mean: that the river is in all places at once, at its source and where it flows into the sea,
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Hermann Hesse
@_Hermann_Hesse
German-Swiss poet, novelist, painter (Nobel Prize, 1946).
USAJoined March 2010
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at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the rapids, in the ocean, in the mountains, everywhere at once,
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so for the river there is only the present moment and not the shadow of the future?'
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'It is,' Siddhartha said. 'And once I learned this I considered my life, and it too was a river,
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and the boy Siddhartha was separated from the man Siddhartha and the graybeard Siddhartha only by shadows, not by real things.
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Nothing was, nothing will be; everything is, everything has being and presence.
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O correr das águas, a passagem das nuvens, o brincar das crianças, o sangue nas veias. Esta é a música de Deus.
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sono stato e sono tuttora un cercatore, ma ho smesso di fare domande a stelle e libri
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la solitude est l'indépendance, je l'avais souhaitée et acquise au cours de longues années
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elle était froide,oh! oui, mais elle était calme,merveilleusement calme et immense comme l'espace silencieux et glacé où tournent les astres
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Le nace a uno cierta melodía, la canta uno silenciosamente, en el interior solamente;
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toda la naturaleza individual se posesiona de la tonada y se deja uno llevar por ella por su fuerza y emotividad,
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y lo notable es que mientras se adueña de uno se olvida lo fortuito, lo banal y lo burdo,
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nos armoniza con el universo y nos da fuerzas y alas contra nuestra torpeza y depresiones
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I wanted only to live in accord with the promptings which came from my true self. Why was that so very difficult?
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When I have neither pleasure nor pain and have been breathing for a while the lukewarm insipid air of these so called good and
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tolerable days, I feel so bad in my childish soul that I smash my moldering lyre of thanksgiving in the face of the slumbering god of
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contentment and would rather feel the very devil burn in me than this warmth of a well-heated room.
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My real self wanders elsewhere, far away, wanders on and on invisibly and has nothing to do with my life.
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There is no reality except the one contained within us. That is why so many people live such an unreal life.
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They take the images outside of them for reality and never allow the world within to assert itself.
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When you like someone, you like them in spite of their faults. When you love someone, you love them with their faults.
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To hold our tongues when everyone is gossiping, to smile without hostility at people and institutions,
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to compensate for the shortage of love in the world with more love in small, private matters;
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to be more faithful in our work, to show greater patience, to forgo the cheap revenge obtainable from mockery and criticism:
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In eternity there is no time, only an instant long enough for a joke.
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Wisdom cannot be imparted. Wisdom that a wise man attempts to impart always sounds like foolishness.
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What could I say to you that would be of value, except that perhaps you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking you cannot find.
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Gaze into the fire, into the clouds, and as soon as the inner voices begin to speak...surrender to them.
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We must become so alone, so utterly alone, that we withdraw into our innermost self.
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It is a way of bitter suffering. But then our solitude is overcome, we are no longer alone...
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Perhaps people like us cannot love. Ordinary people can--that is their secret.
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There is no escape. You can't be a vagabond and an artist and still be a solid citizen, a wholesome, upstanding man.
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You say yes to the sunlight and pure fantasies, so you have to say yes to the filth and the nausea.
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