English En
  • Deutsche De
  • English En
  • Français Fr
  • Русский Ru

We use cookies to personalise content and ads, to provide social media features and to analyse our traffic. We also share information about your use of our site with our marketing and analytics partners who may combine it with other information you've provided to them or which they've separately collected from you. You also may to see our Privacy Policy. By clicking the OK button below, you accept our cookies.

Authors:

He yearned to know nothing more about himself, to find peace, to be dead. If only lightning could come and kill him. If only a tiger could come and devour him. If only there were a wine, a poison that could bring him a stupor, bring him sleep and oblivion and no more awakening. Was there any filth with which he had not soiled himself, any sin or folly he had not committed, any spiritual bleakness with which he had not burdened himself? Was it still possible to go on living? Was it possible to inhale breath again and again and exhale breath, to feel hunger, to eat again, to sleep again, to lie with a woman again? Was this cycle not exhausted at completed for him?

Herman Hesse