Quotes by Ingeborg Bachmann

Ingeborg Bachmann's insights on:

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My favorite, how did you put it now? Landscapes, animals, plants? Favorite what? Books, music, architecture, painting? I don’t have any favorite animals, no favorite mosquitoes, favorite beetles, favorite worms, even with the best will in the world I cannot tell you which birds or fish or predators I prefer, it would also be difficult for me to have to choose much more generally.
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She has learned not to be nervous in rooms in which people take note of each other, weigh up, write down, write off, avoid, eye up. She doesn’t dream, she is simply at rest. Others seek peace of mind, Miranda had peace of eye.
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I can no longer see a path in any path.
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Ausdruck ist Wahn.
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In the end he’ll find out what’s going on with me, since we still have the rest of our lives. Maybe not ahead of us, maybe just today, but we do have our lives, there’s no doubt about that.
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What of those loving, accepting, understanding voices? Do you hear them? Or do you only hear what hurts?
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I’ll worship animals in the night, I’ll lay violent hands on the holiest icons, I’ll clutch at all lies, I’ll grow bestial in my dreams and will allow myself to be slaughtered like a beast.
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What actually is possible, however, is transformation. And the transformative effect that emanates from new works leads us to new perception, to a new feeling, new consciousness.
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A single tear forms, just in the corner of one eye, but it doesn’t roll down my cheek; it merely crystallizes in the cold air, it grows and grows into a second giant globe that doesn’t want to orbit with the world – it breaks off from the planet and plunges into infinity.
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The arrogance to insist on her own unhappiness, her own loneliness, had always been in her, but only now did it venture to emerge; it blossomed, ran wild, smothered her. She was unredeemable and nobody should have the effrontery to redeem her, to know the millennium in which the red-blossoming rods that had grown inseparably entangled would spring apart and leave the path open. Come, sleep, come, thousand years, that I may be awoken by another hand.
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