Quotes from Thomas Mann

No meu íntimo dirijo perguntas ao mundo que me cerca, e, escutando, aguardo que se me indique um lugar que me permita enterrar-me longe de todos e, sem que ninguém perturbe, dialogar com minha vida e meu destino...

Los hombres no saben por qué les satisfacen las obras de arte. No son verdaderamente entendidos, y creen descubrir innumerables excelencias en una obra, para justificar su admiración por ella, cuando el fundamento íntimo de su aplauso es un sentimiento imponderable que se llama simpatía.

la palabra es enemiga de lo misterioso y cruel delatora de lo vulgar.

Aschenbach noticed with astonishment the lad's perfect beauty. His faced recalled the noblest moment of Greek sculpture—pale, with a sweet reserve, with clustering honey-coloured ringlets, the brow and nose descending in one line, the winning mouth, the expression of pure and godlike serenity. Yet with all this chaste perfection of form it was of such unique personal charm that the observer though he had never seen, either in nature or art, anything so utterly happy and consummate.

Ak?ll? olmak gerektiÄŸini düÅŸünerek tam öyle olmaya çal??t???m?z s?rada yine aptallaÅŸmak gerektiÄŸini öÄŸreniyoruz.

Sun and sea air could not burn his skin, it was the same creamy marble hue as at first—though he did look a little pale, either from the cold or in the bluish moonlight of the arc-lamps. The shapely brows were so delicately drawn, the eyes so deeply dark—lovelier he was than words could say, and as often the thought visited Aschenbach, and brought its own pang, that language could but extol, not reproduce, the beauties of the sense.

El arte es vida potenciada.

Wie seltsam mischt die Vorsehung uns Sterblichen Freude und Leid in einem Becher!

People, after all, only love and respect other people so long as they remain unable to judge them. Longing is a child of ignorance. It

a born objector, I saw that at once, down on the existing order; and that always gives me the impression that the person is spoilt—I can't help it.

If I gave in to my nature, I'd lie in bed until afternoon, you can believe me. It's actually hypocrisy for me to get up so early.

The one who loves most becomes subordinate and must suffer—his

How can a man be worthy as an educator if he have a natural, incorrigible penchant for the abyss? Much as we renounce it and seek dignity, we are drawn to it.

La Belleza, es, pues, el camino del hombre sensible hacia el espíritu...

Es, sin duda, positivo que el mundo solo conozca la obra bella y no sus orígenes ni las circunstancias que acompañaron su génesis, pues el conocimiento de las fuentes que inspiraron al artista lo confundiría e intimidaría, anulando así los efectos de la excelsitud.

God help our darkened and desecrated country and teach it to make its peace with the world and with itself!

Quién podría descifrar el enigma de la naturaleza del artista? ¿Quién puede comprender esa fusión instintiva de disciplina y desenfreno en que consiste? Porque el hecho de no querer un sedante saludable es desenfreno.

LCSH terms that are "orphans" in terms of their individual coverage are seldom orphans in terms of their relationships.

Children of sin are we all. But to me it often seems as though a contradiction were in the world between sinfulness and high courage, between the wretchedness of the flesh and its pride. If it be corrupt, how then can it gaze free and bold and brace itself to such a noble gait that it fills with pride even the beholder? The spirit is ware of our unworth, yet unconcerned with its knowledge Nature considers herself worthy.

La Belleza, Fedro, tenlo muy presente, solo la Belleza es a la vez visible y divina, y por ello es también el camino de lo sensible, es, mi pequeño Fedro, el camino del artista hacia el espíritu.

In all of us is the wish to return to the has-been and repeat it, that if it were once unblest it may now be blessed.

But then he came across a long chapter that he read from the first word to the last, with his lips tightly closed, his eyebrows pursed, concentrating—his face registering a total, almost deathlike look of earnest concentration—oblivious to every trace of life stirring around him. This chapter was entitled: "Concerning Death and Its Relation to the Indestructibility of Our Essential Nature." He

They pledged each other in their spiced beer, a very good drink, with cloves, which I have never tasted but let glide with pleasure down their gullets. Very oft is the telling only a substitute for enjoyment which we, or the heavens, deny ourselves.

Aimer... aimer... Qu'est-ce que c'est? Qa manque de définition, ce mot-là. Was der eine hat, liebt der andere, comme nous Allemands disons proverbialment.