Hermann Hesse Quotes About Lying

Quotes about: Lying

• I have no right to call myself one who knows. I was one who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books; I'm beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me. My story isn't pleasant, it's not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.

  Hermann Hesse

  Dream, Sweet, Stars

  Hermann Hesse (2012). “Demian: A Dual-Language Book”, p.18, Courier Corporation

• All interpretation, all psychology, all attempts to make things comprehensible, require the medium of theories, mythologies, and lies.

  Hermann Hesse

  Lying, Psychology, Interpretation

  Hermann Hesse (2013). “Steppenwolf: A Novel”, p.56, Macmillan

• It was all a lie, it all stank, stank of lies, it all gave the illusion of meaning and happiness and beauty, and all of it was just putrefaction that no one would admit to. Bitter was the taste of the world. Life was a torment.

  Hermann Hesse

  Lying, World, Taste

• Toward seven o'clock every morning, I leave my study and step Out on the bright terrace; the sun already burns resplendent Between the shadows of the fig tree, makes the low wall of coarse Granite warm to the touch. Here my tools lie ready and waiting, Each one an intimate, an ally: the round basket for weeds: The zappetta, the small hoe with a short haft . . . There's a rake here as well, at at times a mattock and spade, Or two watering cans filled with water warmed by the sun. With my basket and small hoe in hand, facing the sun, I Go out for my morning walk.

  Hermann Hesse

  Weed, Morning, Wall

• You have no doubt guessed long since that the conquest of time and the escape from reality, or however else it may be that you choose to describe your longing, means simply the wish to be relieved of your so-called personality. That is the prison where you lie.

  Hermann Hesse

  Lying, Mean, Reality

  Hermann Hesse (2013). “Steppenwolf: A Novel”, p.176, Macmillan

• Oh, if I had had a friend at this moment, a friend in an attic room, dreaming by candlelight and with a violin lying ready at his hand! How I should have slipped up to him in his quiet hour, noiselessly climbing the winding stair to take him by surprise, and then with talk and music we should have held heavenly festival throughout the night!

  Hermann Hesse

  Dream, Lying, Night

  Hermann Hesse (2013). “Steppenwolf: A Novel”, p.36, Macmillan

• He saw merchants trading, princes hunting, mourners wailing for their dead, whores offering themselves, physicians trying to help the sick, priests determining the most suitable day for seeding, lovers loving, mothers nursing their children—and all of this was not worthy of one look from his eye, it all lied, it all stank, it all stank of lies, it all pretended to be meaningful and joyful and beautiful, and it all was just concealed putrefaction. The world tasted bitter. Life was torture

  Hermann Hesse

  Beautiful, Meaningful, Mother

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