ŷ������

... for they see death and not life as the releaser.
They are ready to cast themselves away in surrender, to be extinguished and to go back to the beginning.

In this connection one thing more must be said. There are a good many people of the same kind as Harry. Many artists are of his kind. These persons all have two souls, two beings within them. There is God and the devil in them; the mother's blood and the father's; the capacity for happiness and the capacity for suffering;

... and so it was that the Steppenwolf brought his own dual and divided nature into the destinies of others besides himself whenever he came into contact with them.

There were those, however, who loved precisely the wolf in him, the free, the savage, the untamable, the dangerous and strong, and these found it peculiarly disappointing and deplorable when suddenly the wild and wicked wolf was also a man, and had hankerings after goodness and refinement, and wanted to hear Mozart, to read poetry and to cherish human ideals. Usually these were the most disappointed and angry of all;

For all who got to love him, saw always only the one side in him.
Many loved him as a refined and clever and interesting man, and were horrified and disappointed when they had come upon the wolf in him.
And they had to because Harry wished, as every sentient being does, to be loved as a whole and therefore it was just with those whose love he most valued that he could least of all conceal and belie the wolf.

And even the unhappiest life has its sunny moments and its little flowers of happiness between sand and stone.

How foolish to wear oneself out in vain longing for warmth!
Solitude is independence.
It had been my wish and with the years I had attained it. It was cold.
Oh, cold enough!
But it was also still, wonderfully still and vast like the cold stillness of space in which the stars revolve.

The golden trail was blazed and I was reminded of the eternal, and of Mozart, and the stars.
For an hour I could breathe once more and live and face existence, without the need to suffer torment, fear, or shame.

.. and that those who brought him up had declared a war of extinction against the beast in him; and precisely this had given him the idea and the belief that he was in fact actually a beast with only a thin covering of the human.

How foolish to wear oneself out in vain longing for warmth!

I saw that Haller was a genius of suffering and that in themeaning of many sayings of Nietzsche he had created within himself with positive genius aboundless and frightful capacity for pain.
I saw at the same time that the root of his pessimismwas not world-contempt but self-contempt; for however mercilessly he might annihilate institutions and persons in his talk he never spared himself.

"وما لجأ الإنسان إلى الغناء إلا لسد حاجة أصيلة فيه هي التعبير عن مشاعره.
وتصريف طاقته الوجدانية, والتسرية عن نفسه وقت العمل, وتنظيم حركته البدنية, وشحذه همته لبذل نشاط أكبر"

"ومحاولته تقسيمها إلى أبواب خصص منها بابً لما كان ينشد عند الدعاء للأولاد, وباباً لما كان يقال في مديحهم, وباباً ثالثاً لما ورد من أغان حول البنات وحبّهن والاعتذار عنهن أو كراهيتهن"...

اي����

For those deprived of faith, an excess of subjectivity leads either
to megalomania or self-denigration, to too much love or too
much self-hatred. Either way, you spend yourself ahead of time.
Subjectivity makes you either God or Satan.

"There is no objective road to eternity, only a subjective feeling experienced at irregular moments in time.
Nothing created by man will endure."

I renounce my humanity even though I may find myself alone.
But am I not already alone in this world from which I no longer expect anything?
Beyond present-day common ideals and forms, one might breathe in a superconsciousness where the intoxication of eternity would do away with the qualms of this world, and where being would be just as pure and immaterial as nonbeing.

"Knowledge is the plague of life, and consciousness, an open wound in its heart."

There are people to whom gain is unimportant, who are hopelessly unhappy and lonely.
We are so closed to one another!
And yet, were we to be totally open to each other, reading into the depths of our souls, how much of our destiny would we see?
We are so lonely in life that we must ask ourselves if the loneliness
of dying is not a symbol of our human existence.

"Compared to the refined culture of sclerotic forms
and frames, which mask everything, the lyrical mode is utterly
barbarian in its expression. Its value resides precisely in its savage
quality: it is only blood, sincerity, and fire."

"The terrifying experience and obsession
of death, when preserved in consciousness, becomes ruinous. If
you talk about death, you save part of yourself. But at the same
time, something of your real self dies, because objectified meanings
lose the actuality they have in consciousness."

"لا يموت الإنسان في السجن من الجوع أو الحر أو البرد أو الضرب أو الأمراض أو الحشرات.
لكنه قد يموت من الانتظار.
النتظار يحوّل الزمن إلا اللازمن, والشيء إلى اللاشيء, والمعنى إلى اللامعنى."