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Christa Wolf

Christa Wolf Quotes

Literary critic

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Famous Christa Wolf Quotes

“Aquí fue. Ahí estaba. Esos leones de piedra, sin cabeza ahora, la miraron. Esa fortaleza, un día inexpugnable, ahora un montón de piedras, fue lo último que vio. Un enemigo hace tiempo olvidado y los siglos, sol, lluvia y viento, la arrasaron. Inalterado el cielo, un bloque azul intenso, alto, dilatado. Cerca las murallas ciclópeamente ensambladas, hoy como ayer, que marcan su dirección al caminar: hacia la puerta, bajo la cual no mana la sangre. Hacia lo tenebroso. Hacia el matadero. Y sola. Con mi relato voy hacia la muerte.”

“Quella fresca domenica d’aprile in cui lei arrivò, Manfred mostrò alla sua futura moglie l’abitazione dei suoi genitori. - La bara della mia vita: suddivisa in bara-soggiorno, bara-sala da pranzo, bara-camera da letto e bara-cucina. - Perché? - chiese Rita. Per conto suo, era intimidita da quella strada fuori mano e signorile, da quella villa antica, da quelle stanze pesanti e buie. - Perché qui non è mai accaduto nulla di vivo, - disse lui. - A memoria mia, mai.”

“To prevent wars, people must criticize, in their own country, the abuses that occur in their own country. The role taboos play in the preparation for war. The number of shameful secrets keeps growing incessantly, boundlessly. How meaningless all censorship taboos become, and how meaningless the consequences for overstepping them, when your life is in danger.”

“What do I actually mean when I say 'delusion'? I mean the absurdity of the claim that the excessive atomic armament of both sides creates a 'balance of terror' that reduces the danger of war; that in the long run it even offers a minimum of security. ... Hence the cynical saying: He who strikes first will die second.”

“You love tenderly and warmly, but your love is like friendship. That's why you have good friends, you're sociable, sympathetic toward people. Until this dissatisfaction comes over you-you know what I'm talking about. Then you become moody, can even repulse people who are close to you, even people who love you, you know why. Those are bad times when everything goes cold, and they follow the times of great love.”

“Now writing is just working your way toward the border that the innermost secret draws around itself, and to cross that line would mean self-destruction. But writing is also an attempt to respect the borderline only for the truly innermost secret, and bit by bit to free the taboos around that core, difficult to admit as they are, from their prison of unspeakability. Not self-destruction but self-redemption. Not being afraid of unavoidable suffering.”