Archives
“You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.”
Cormac McCarthy, No Country For Old Men
“[Siddhartha’s son] too is called, he too is of eternal life. But do we know then, you and I, to what he is called, to what path, to what deeds, to what sufferings? His sufferings will not be small, his heart is too hard and proud. Such hearts must suffer much, wander much, do much injustice, saddle themselves with many sins. You never force him, never beat him, never order him, becasue you know that soft is stronger than hard, water stronger than rock, love stronger than violence. Very good, I praise you. But is it not a mistake to your part to believe that you never force him, never punish him? Do you not bind him in bonds with your love? Do you not shame him daily and make things even harder for him with your kindness and patience? Do you not force him, the arrogant and pampered boy, to live in a hut with two old banana eaters, for whom even rice is a delicacy, whose thoughts cannot be his, whose hearts are old and silent and take a different course from his? Is he not forced by all this, not punished?”
Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha (Page 105)
“On many evenings, they sat together at the tree trunk by the bank, silently listening to the water, which was no water for them, but the voice of life, the voice of Being, the voice of eternal Becoming.”
Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha (Page 95)
“One of the ferryman’s greatest virtues was that he knew how to listen like few other people. Without a word from Vasudeva, the speaker felt that the ferryman took in his words, silent, open, waiting, missing none, impatient for none, neither praising nor blaming, but only listening. Siddhartha felt what happiness it is to unburden himself to such a listener, to sink his own life into this listener’s heart, his own seeking, his own suffering.”
Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha (Page 92)
“That was why he had had to go out into the world, losing himself in pleasure and power, in women and money, had had to become a merchant, a dicer, a drinker, a grasper, until the priest and the samana inside him were dead. That was why he had had to keep enduring those ugly years, enduring the disgust, the emptiness, the meaninglessness of a bleak and lost life, to the end, to bitter despair, until Siddhartha the sensualist, Siddhartha the grasper could die. He had died; a new Siddhartha had awoken from sleep. He too would grow old, he too would have to die someday—Siddhartha was ephemeral, every formation was ephemeral. But today he was young, was a child, the new Siddhartha, and was full of joy.”
Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha (Page 88)
“Heartache is good. Accept it joyously. Allow it, don’t repress it. The natural tendency of the mind is to repress anything that is painful. But by repressing it you will destroy something that was growing.”
Osho, Everyday Osho (Page 246)
“‘It is good,’ he thought, ‘to taste everything that one needs to know. As I child I learned that wealth and worldly pleasure are not good. I knew it for a long time, but I experienced it only now. And now I know it, know it not only with my memory, but also with my eyes, with my heart, with my stomach. Good for me that I know it!'”
Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha (Page 87)
“He could have remained with Kamaswami for years, acquiring money, squandering money, fattening his belly and letting his soul go thirsty; he could have gone on living for years in that gentle, well-cushioned hell—if this had not come: the moment of utter hopelessness and helplessness, that extreme moment, when he had hung over the rushing water and had been ready to destroy himself. He had felt that despair, that deepest disgust, and he had no succumbed: the bird, the cheerful source and voice in him were still alive; and that was why he felt this joy, why he laughed, why his face beamed under his graying hair.”
Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha (Page 86)
