Zitat des Tages von Hermann Hesse:
Meaning and reality were not hidden somewhere behind things, they were in them, in all of them.
Among the letters my readers write me, there is a certain category which is continuously growing, and which I see as a symptom of the increasing intellectualization of the relationship between readers and literature.
It was still quiet in the house, and not a sound was heard from outside, either. Were it not for this silence, my reverie would probably have been disrupted by reminders of daily duties, of getting up and going to school.
For me, however, that beloved, glowing little word happiness has become associated with everything I have felt since childhood upon hearing the sound of the word itself.
Every man is more than just himself; he also represents the unique, the very special and always significant and remarkable point at which the world's phenomena intersect, only once in this way, and never again.
Everything becomes a little different as soon as it is spoken out loud.
Seeking means: to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal.
Love of God is not always the same as love of good.
As a body everyone is single, as a soul never.
All men are prepared to accomplish the incredible if their ideals are threatened.
But your questions, which are unanswerable without exception, all spring from the same erroneous thinking.
One never reaches home, but wherever friendly paths intersect the whole world looks like home for a time.
If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us.
If time is not real, then the dividing line between this world and eternity, between suffering and bliss, between good and evil, is also an illusion.
The call of death is a call of love. Death can be sweet if we answer it in the affirmative, if we accept it as one of the great eternal forms of life and transformation.
To be able to throw one's self away for the sake of a moment, to be able to sacrifice years for a woman's smile - that is happiness.
The bourgeois prefers comfort to pleasure, convenience to liberty, and a pleasant temperature to the deathly inner consuming fire.
To study history means submitting to chaos and nevertheless retaining faith in order and meaning.
In Germany I have been acknowledged again since the fall of Hitler, but my works, partly suppressed by the Nazis and partly destroyed by the war; have not yet been republished there.
When trying to remember my share in the glow of the eternal present, in the smile of God, I return to my childhood, too, for that is where the most significant discoveries turn up.
The world is not imperfect or slowly evolving along a path to perfection. No, it is perfect at every moment, every sin already carries grace in it.
It is not our purpose to become each other; it is to recognize each other, to learn to see the other and honor him for what he is.
It is possible for one never to transgress a single law and still be a bastard.
People with courage and character always seem sinister to the rest.
What constitutes a real, live human being is more of a mystery than ever these days, and men each one of whom is a valuable, unique experiment on the part of nature are shot down wholesale.
Writing is good, thinking is better. Cleverness is good, patience is better.
This happiness consisted of nothing else but the harmony of the few things around me with my own existence, a feeling of contentment and well-being that needed no changes and no intensification.
Happiness is a how; not a what. A talent, not an object.
Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish.
There's no reality except the one contained within us. That's why so many people live an unreal life. They take images outside them for reality and never allow the world within them to assert itself.
Only the ideas that we really live have any value.
Within us there is someone who knows everything, wills everything, does everything better than we ourselves.
Perhaps people like us cannot love. Ordinary people can - that is their secret.
Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.
In each individual the spirit is made flesh, in each one the whole of creation suffers, in each one a Savior is crucified.
Until 1914 I loved to travel; I often went to Italy and once spent a few months in India. Since then I have almost entirely abandoned travelling, and I have not been outside of Switzerland for over ten years.