Quotes About Oblivion

There is nothing so entirely desirable in all the world as a few hours' oblivion.

Todo se borrará en un segundo. El diccionario acumulado de la cuna hasta el lecho de muerte se eliminará. Llegará el silencio y no habrá palabras para decirlo. De la boca abierta no saldrá nada. Ni yo ni mí. La lengua seguirá poniendo el mundo en palabras. En las conversaciones en torno a una mesa familiar seremos tan solo un nombre, cada vez más sin rostro, hasta desaparecer en la masa anónima de una generación remota.

Sí… Nos olvidarán. ¡Ese es nuestro sino, contra el que nada se puede!… ¡Lo que ahora nos parece serio, significativo, de gran importancia…, llegará el día en que lo olvidemos o se nos antoje poco importante!…

Forgotten is forgiven.

There were silences as murmurous as sound. There were pauses that seemed about to shatter and were only to be snatched back to oblivion by the tightening of his arms about her and the sense that she was resting there as a caught, gossamer feather, drifted in out of the dark.

They had forgotten – as people inevitably forget

Al final, siempre gana el olvido.

No hay mayor fatuidad que creerse inmortal en la memoria frágil de los hombres. Gloria al olvido, que siempre triunfa.

I forget. I don't see. I don't think.

A paz que é dos que não conhecem e esquecem sem querer.

So great is my tedium, so overwhelming the horror of being alive, that I cannot imagine what could possibly serve as a palliative, an antidote, a balm, a source of oblivion.

Let us flee, my love, from being ourselves… Let us never remove from our finger the magic ring that summons, when turned, the fairies of silence and the elves of darkness and the gnomes of oblivion…

No, we don't feel anything. We consciously pass through the door we have to enter, and the fact we have to enter it is enough to put us to sleep.

The rustic, the reader of novels, the pure ascetic: these three are the truly happy men, because they have all renounced their personality — the first because he lives by instinct, which is impersonal, the second because he lives through his imagination, which is oblivion, and the third because he does not live and, not yet having died, sleeps.

Life would be intolerable if we were conscious of it. Happily, we are not. We live with the same unconsciousness as animals, in the same futile vain way, and if we think in advance about death (which they, in all probability, without being dogmatic do not do), we think about it through the veils of so many oblivions, so many distractions and meanderings, that it can hardly be said we think about it at all.

Every day things happen in the world that can't be explained by any law of things we know. Every day they're mentioned and forgotten, and the same mystery that brought them takes them away, transforming their secret into oblivion. Such is the law by which things that can't be explained must be forgotten. The visible world goes on as usual in the broad daylight. Otherness watches us from the shadows.

People's ability to forget what they do not want to know, to overlook what is before their eyes, was seldom put to the test better than in Germany at that time.

There is nothing in this world as invisible as a monument.

world" is totally absent.

El olvido era la muerte postrera y definitiva de las cosas y la gente.

Silence glimmers in the empty hallways, on the radios no one listens to anymore.

I idly wished for something else, for any situation that was neither this forsaken chamber nor the tenseness of Burrich's room. For a restfulness that perhaps I had once known somewhere else but could no longer recall. And so I drowsed into oblivion.

What will happen to a joke when no one can hear it anymore? How lonely those words will be, when their power is gone. Where will they go? Off to join the stories that can never be told again.

Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you fore defeated Challengers of oblivion Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down, The square-limbed Roman letters Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as well Builds his monument mockingly; For man will be blotted out, the blithe earth die, the brave sun Die blind and blacken to the heart: Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained thoughts found The honey of peace in old poems.