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Famous Ernst Jünger Quotes

“Law and custom are becoming the subjects of a new field of learning. The anarch endeavors to judge them ethnographically, historically, and also – I will probably come back to this – morally. The State will be generally satisfied with him; it will scarcely notice him In this respect he bears a certain resemblance to the criminal – say, the master spy – whose gifts are concealed behind a run-of-the-mill occupation.”

SocietyAnarchErnst Jünger
Book:Eumeswil
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“How can one explain this trend towards a more colorless and shallow life? Well, the work was easier, if less healthy, and it brought in more money, more leisure, and perhaps more entertainment. A day in the country is long and hard. And yet the fruits of their present life were worthless compared to a single coin of their former life: a rest in the evening and a rural festivity. That they no longer knew the old kind of happiness was obvious from the discontentment which spread over their features. Soon dissatisfaction, prevailing over all their other moods, became their religion.”

HappinessWorkSatisfactionErnst Jünger
Book:The Glass Bees
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“It is no coincidence that precisely when things started going downhill with the gods, politics gained its bliss-making character. There would be no reason for objecting to this, since the gods, too were not exactly fair. But at least people saw temples instead of termite architecture. Bliss is drawing closer; it is no longer in the afterlife, it will come, though not momentarily, sooner or later in the here and now - in time. The anarch thinks more primitively; he refuses to give up any of his happiness. "Make thyself happy" is his basic law. It his response to the "Know thyself" at the temple of Apollo in Delphi. These two maxims complement each other; we must know our happiness and our measure.”

HappinessPoliticsSelf KnowledgeAnarchErnst Jünger
Book:Eumeswil
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“Si existiera un gran ser al que no le costase ningún esfuerzo abarcar de una sola mirada el espacio que desde los Alpes se extiende hasta el mar, vería todo aquel trajín como una graciosa batalla de hormigas, como un suave martilleo en una misma obra. Pero nosotros vemos únicamente una parcela minúscula, y por eso nuestro pequeño Destino nos aplasta y la Muerte se nos aparece con una figura terrible. Tan sólo podemos conjeturar que estas cosas que aquí ocurren forman parte de un gran orden, y que en algún lugar se anudan, para formar un sentido cuya unidad se nos escapa, esos hilos de los cuales pendemos y en cuyo extremo realizamos contorsiones aparentemente absurdas e incoherentes.”

GuerraDestinoOrden
Book:Copse 125: A Chronicle from the Trench Warfare of 1918
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“Un espíritu terrible ha borrado aquí todas las cosas superfluas y creado un trasfondo digno del cuadro que acabo de imaginar. Aquí el ser humano vuelve a convertirse necesariamente en un fragmento de la Naturaleza, que lo somete a sus leyes inescrutables y lo utiliza como una criatura hecha de sangre y músculos, de garras y dientes.”

GuerraNaturaleza
Book:Copse 125: A Chronicle from the Trench Warfare of 1918
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“¿Qué clase de hombres son, pues, estos aviadores? Proceden de ese ejército gigantesco que, allá delante en las trincheras, está sometido a un fuego permanente, y constituyen una selección a la que ha congregado el afán de entregarse a formas de combate cada vez más audaces. También hay entre ellos soldados de caballería, figuras delgadas como yóqueis, de rostros afilados y monóculos brillantes. Se han cansado de estar inactivos en las aldeas y en las mansiones señoriales de la retaguardia y de esperar, sin hacer nada, a que se reanude el avance. Se les nota que pertenecen a familias que desde hace siglos llevan en la sangre el espíritu de los combates ecuestres y que miran con desdén, como poco adecuado a su rango, ese modo de luchar que consiste en situarse detrás de máquinas y de fusiles automáticos. Por ello se les acusa de que entienden más de cazar y disparar que de manejar los motores. Pero entre los aviadores hay también otros hombres que han nacido y crecido en las zonas llenas de humo de las grandes industrias y que desde su infancia han estado cerca de los medios y poderes propios de nuestra época. Ellos se han adentrado un poco más en este mundo nuestro que, por debajo de su superficie fría, hierve de misterios y prodigios incandescentes; estos hombres barruntan ese espíritu elemental que comienza a dar señales de vida en los átomos del acero y de los materiales explosivos y en las crepitantes chispas del encendido de una máquina. Y, sin embargo, sus pasos se orientan hacia lo sencillo; los aviadores dominan su avión como el australiano domina su bumerán. Hay, en fin, entre ellos, otros hombres en los que parecen haber resucitado, haber re-nacido de una manera extraña, los antiguos vikingos; apenas representa diferencia ninguna el que éstos de ahora suban a pájaros artificiales y los vikingos de otros tiempos subieran a naves piratas adornadas con escudos multicolores. Es cierto que han cambiado los tiempos y los medios, pero ha permanecido viva la audacia con que se enfrentan a la Muerte.”

GuerraAviadores
Book:Copse 125: A Chronicle from the Trench Warfare of 1918
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“Nadie tomará a mal que aquí, sumidos en la concavidad de la ola, entre peligro y peligro, agarremos por los pelos la Vida, en la medida en que nos es posible. Son pocas nuestras alegrías. En realidad sólo tenemos una: beber y divertirnos en compañía de los camaradas. Cada vez puede ser la última vez; por ello disfrutamos con una fruición salvaje, como si fuera la única vez. Aquí alargamos nuestras manos hacia todos los frutos que se nos ofrecen, para volver a extraerles todo su jugo, y sentimos con un placer muy especial la acelerada circulación de la sangre en nuestras venas. La embriaguez es para nosotros una pregunta que hacemos a la Vida; cuando a esa pregunta se le da, de una manera desenfrenada, una respuesta afirmativa, nos sentimos reconfortados. En comparación con los guerreros de otros tiempos, hoy morimos de un modo muy amorfo, muy solitario — por ello sentimos tanto más intensamente el afán de demostrarnos a nosotros mismos, en una hora de euforia, que aún queda en nosotros, frente a la Muerte, algo de aquella polícroma magnificencia que el hombre valiente tiene el don de revelar ante el cuadrilátero cerrado.”

GuerraEmbriaguezCamaradería
Book:Copse 125: A Chronicle from the Trench Warfare of 1918
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“Esos relámpagos describen un vasto y convulso círculo que corta los frentes y parece reunir a amigos y enemigos en una misma obra de destrucción. El conjunto produce la impresión de un jubiloso triunfo de los elementos, de una ígnea erupción de la Tierra misma; frente a ello, el ser humano, que en pequeñas hordas oscuras cruza a la carrera las sombras, representa un papel minúsculo e insignificante.”

GuerraNaturaleza
Book:Copse 125: A Chronicle from the Trench Warfare of 1918
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“Un recién llegado penetra en este momento en el angosto espacio; llega de fuera y pasa por encima de la muralla formada por los cuerpos humanos. Está herido y aún no lo han vendado; la herida, oculta bajo el cabello, ha inundado de sangre una de las caras de su rostro; chorros y salpicaduras de sangre han caído sobre el uniforme y llegado hasta las botas. La sangre parece seguir fluyendo todavía, pues, para que no le ciegue los ojos, aquel hombre aprieta una oreja contra un hombro. En la mano lleva un casco de acero, rajado por una larga hendidura. A pesar de su aspecto terrible posee una cierta majestuosidad. En su apostura y en sus ojos brillantes se le nota que no es uno de ésos que se dejan intimidar por la sangre cuando corre, sino de esos otros a los que ésta, como un primer sacrificio derramado en honor del dios de la guerra, vuelve aún más coléricos y salvajes. En la penumbra de la luz de las velas, que proporciona a su sangre un color oscuro, como de flores casi negras, y que hace juguetear alrededor de su cabello un áureo resplandor, el recién llegado aparece, entre los apretujados habitantes de esta caverna, como el mensajero de una raza más libre y más valerosa, de una raza que, si hay que morir, prefiere hacerlo fuera, a la luz del día. La noticia que trae suena como un último saludo de guerreros que han caído combatiendo como hombres, sosteniendo ante sus ojos una sola imagen, la del deber.”

GuerraSacrificioGuerreroDeber
Book:Copse 125: A Chronicle from the Trench Warfare of 1918
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“Para todos nosotros ha sido el Bosquecillo la encarnación suprema de esta posición, un símbolo como lo era, en épocas pretéritas, una bandera desgarrada por las balas. Y de igual modo que una bandera era entonces algo más que un ennegrecido pedazo de seda clavado a un palo, también ese pedazo de tierra arrasado y machacado por los proyectiles ha llegado a ser para nosotros algo más que un lugar carente de nombre, al que por ello fue preciso añadir un número con el fin de poder distinguirlo de los demás lugares. Los más de nosotros somos personas sencillas, gente que no sabría dar más que una respuesta confusa si alguien le preguntara por el origen de esta guerra o por sus grandes objetivos y sus grandes causas. Y si alguien les dijera a estos hombres que carece de toda importancia la pérdida o la ganancia de una parcela de terreno tan mezquina como ésa, sin duda no sería mucho lo que podrían replicar. A pesar de todo, sentirían que ese terreno representa algo más que una mezcla de greda y arena plantada de astillados troncos de árboles, cuya situación es determinable en un mapa y cuya superficie puede ser medida — de igual manera que la Cruz de Hierro que muchos llevan en su pecho significa para ellos algo más que un trozo de hierro con un borde plateado. El Bosquecillo 125 despertaría en estos hombres el recuerdo de marchas difíciles, de pesadas semanas de trabajo, de guardias nocturnas durante las cuales ese pedazo de tierra se destacaba en la oscuridad como un llameante alto horno, y de días en que sus ojos lo veían aplastado bajo el peso de nubes de proyectiles. El nombre del Bosquecillo 125 no se les aparecería como un nombre cualquiera, sino como un nombre que se graba al rojo vivo en la memoria y que evoca tal cantidad de acciones y sentimientos que, al mencionarlo, todos los detalles se vuelven insignificantes, como cuando contemplamos uno de esos sepulcros megalíticos que se han conservado de tiempos remotos. Esos hombres sentirían también que ese Bosquecillo no puede ser un lugar como otro cualquiera, porque cada uno de los pasos que en él dieron hubo de ser comprado con la vida, y porque el gran destino de los pueblos fue allí vivido y sufrido en el destino del individuo. Lo que el mensajero de los pocos supervivientes de la guarnición del Bosquecillo acaba de decir suena como una sentencia dictada por un Poder superior, pero como una sentencia de la que uno no tiene por qué avergonzarse, a pesar de lo dura que es.”

GuerraSacrificio
Book:Copse 125: A Chronicle from the Trench Warfare of 1918
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“El horizonte de los embudos y de las trincheras es —un horizonte estrecho. Su alcance no es mayor que el de una granada de mano; lo que uno ve allí se le queda bien grabado. Contra ese fondo horrible se yergue el combatiente, el hombre sencillo, anónimo, sobre el cual gravitan el peso y el destino del mundo. En los bordes de fuego situados más allá de todo límite procrea ese hombre — en la noche solitaria procrean el Hombre y la Tierra. Yo he visto su rostro bajo el brillante borde del casco cuando la Muerte se alzaba amenazadora ante él. Lo he visto caer muerto; su imagen y su legado permanecen en mi corazón.”

GuerraSacrificio
Book:Copse 125: A Chronicle from the Trench Warfare of 1918
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“The positive counterpart of the anarchist is the anarch. The latter is not the adversary of the monarch, but his antipode, untouched by him though also dangerous. He is not the opponent of the monarch, but his pendant. After all, the monarch wants to rule many, nay, all people; the anarch, only himself. This gives him an attitude both objective and skeptical towards the powers that be; he has their figures go past him – and he is untouched, no doubt, yet inwardly not unmoved, not without historical passion. Every born historian is more or less an anarch; if he has greatness, then on this basis he rises without partisanship to the judge’s bench. This concerns my profession, which I take seriously. I am also the night steward at the Casbah; now, I am not saying that I take this job less seriously. Here I am directly involved in the events, I deal with the living. My anarchic principle is not detrimental to my work. Rather it substantiates it as something I have in common with everyone else, except that I am more conscious if this. I serve the Condor, who is a tyrant – that is his function, just as mine is to be his steward; both of us can retreat to substance: to human nature in its nameless condition.”

HistoryAnarchistAnarch
Book:Eumeswil
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“When in the course of my work at the luminar, I was reviewing public law, from Aristotle to Hegel and beyond, I thought of an Anglo Saxon's axiom about human equality. He seeks it not in the ever-changing distribution of power and means, but in a constant: the fact that anyone can kill anyone else. This is a platitude, albeit reduced to a striking formula. The possibility of killing someone else is part of the potential of the anarch whom everyone carries around inside himself, even though he is seldom aware of that possibility. It always slumbers in the underground, even when two people exchange greetings in the street or avoid each other. When one stands atop a tower or in front of an oncoming train, that possibility is already drawing closer. Aside from the technological dangers, we also register the nearness of the Other. He can even be my brother. An old poet, Edgar Allen Poe, grasped this possibility in ‘Descent into the Maelstrom’. In any case, we watch our backs. Then comes the thronging in the catastrophe, the raft of the Méduse, the starving in the lifeboat. I want to indicate this only insofar as it concerns my service. In any event, I brought this knowledge into the Condor’s range, into the inner sanctum that Monseigneur described as his ‘Parvulo.’ I can kill him, dramatically or discreetly. His beverages – he especially likes a light red wine – ultimately pass through my hands. Now granted, it is unlikely that I would kill him, albeit not impossible. Who can tell what astrological conjunctions one may get involved in? So, for now, my knowledge is merely theoretical, though important insofar as it puts me in his level. Not only can I kill him; I can also grant him amnesty. This is in my hands. Naturally, I would not try to strike him just because he is tyrant – I am too well versed in history, especially the model that we have attained in Eumeswil. An immoderate tyrant settles his own hash. The execution can be left to the anarchists; that is all they think about.”

EqualityAnarchistAnarch
Book:Eumeswil
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“Our city teems with sons who have escaped their fathers in a similar way. Usually, this remains obscure. The Oedipal relation­ship is reduced to a malaise between individuals. The loss of esteem is inevitable, but people get along with one another. Moreover, I am troubled less by my background than by the respect that my old man demands on the basis of his paternity. He cites a credit that is not his due: the fact that fathers, rulers, professors once lived and deserved this name. Nowadays, that is nothing but a rumor. When he swaggers, I sometimes feel like reminding him of the map room and the tricks he harassed my mother with. She shel­tered me from him in her cavern just as Rhea shielded her Zeus against the gluttonous Cronus. Naturally, I avoid making this chess move; I am aware, here too, of imperfection, which torments me. There are truths that we must hush if we are to live together; but you cannot knock over the chessboard. I owe my restraint partly to Bruno, whose course also covers magical and even practical conduct. He said: "If the words are about to flee your lips, then reach toward the left side of your chest for your wallet. You will then save your joke; it will accrue to your capital. You will feel your heart." That is how I act with my dad. At such times, I am even over­come with benevolence. This is also my advice to Vigo when he wants to parry hateful criticism by giving tit for tat.”

FatherhoodEumeswil
Book:Eumeswil
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“Dalin will not get very far. Such types try to hoist a boulder that is much too heavy for them. They are crushed when it slides back. Moreover, they draw attention; often they fall victim to the first cleansings. They do not know the rules, they even scorn them. They are like people who deliberately drive on the wrong side of the road and want to be applauded for doing so. The anarch, in contrast, knows the rules. He has studied them as a historian and goes along with them as a contemporary. Wherever possible, he plays his own game within their framework; this makes the fewest waves. Thus, Dalin's liquidation would presumably be consistent with the system that he defied. But that is not the basis for my legitimation. One might erroneously assume that I take bloodshed lightly. Not by along shot! I simply stay free of moral judgments. Blood has its own laws; it is as untamable as the sea.”

AnarchistsEumeswil
Book:Eumeswil
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“Mulling it over that evening, I had to agree with him. Dalin embodied the anarchic nihilist, a type that is not all that rare. What was special about him was that he not only reacted with a general malaise, he also thought about it. Of course it made a difference whether he shot someone from the front or from the back—a difference not in the effect, but in the self-affirmation. I have noticed that a cat will turn up her nose at a piece of meat if I hand it to her, but she will devour it with gusto if she has "stolen" it. The meat is the same, but the difference lies in the predator's delight in recognizing itself. The anarchic nihilist is not to be confused with the socialist revolutionary. His aversion is not toward one person or another but toward order per se. Asocial and apolitical, he represents the destructive workings of nature. He would like to accelerate them. Compared with even the modest methods of our tyranny, Dalin seems like a kind of Don Quixote tilting at windmills. What was accomplished when a train derailed, a bridge exploded, a depart­ment store burned to the ground? True, one has to see this in different terms—say, as a paltry sacrifice to the delight of the powerful Shiva. A chemist seldom knows precisely what he is doing.”

AnarchistsEumeswil
Book:Eumeswil
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“The anarch learns how to read and write if and when it pleases him. Many children are drawn to a book by innate curiosity. Charlemagne was still illiterate after many years of ruling his tremendous empire. Even when associating with scholars like Alcuin and Peter of Pisa, he had not gotten very far with writing; after all, he had more and better things to do. It is unlikely that Homer knew how to write; the letter inhibits free singing. At any rate, caution is indicated when a boat leaves the sea and glides into the canals—the most dangerous thing of all is numbers. As a historian, I depend on the written word; as an anarch, I can do without it.”

EumeswilCharlemagne
Book:Eumeswil
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“They found no mischief in me. I remained normal, however deeply they probed. And also straight as an arrow. To be sure, normality seldom coincides with straightness. Normalcy is the human constitution; straightness is logical reasoning. With its help, I could answer satisfactorily. In contrast, the human element is at once so general and so intricately encoded that they fail to perceive it, like the air that they breathe. Thus they were unable to penetrate my fundamental structure, which is anarchic. That sounds complicated, but it is simple, for everyone is anarchic; this is precisely what is normal about us. Of course, the anarch is hemmed in from the first day by father and mother, by state and society. Those are prunings, tappings of the primordial strength, and nobody escapes them. One has to resign oneself. But the anarchic remains, at the very bottom, as a mystery, usually unknown even to its bearer. It can erupt from him as lava, can destroy him, liberate him. Distinctions must be made here: love is anarchic, marriage is not. The warrior is anarchic, the soldier is not. Manslaughter is anarchic, murder is not. Christ is anarchic, Saint Paul is not. Since, of course, the anarchic is normal, it is also present in Saint Paul, and sometimes it erupts mightily from him. Those are not antitheses but degrees. The history of the world is moved by anarchy. In sum: the free human being is anarchic, the anarchist is not.”

Eumeswil
Book:Eumeswil
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“None of us can know today if tomorrow morning we will not be counted as part of a group considered outside the law. In that moment the civilized veneer of life changes, as the state props of well-being disappear and are transformed into omens of destruction. The luxury liner becomes a battleship, or the black jolly roger and the red executioner’s flag are hoisted on it.”

FreedomConservatismRight WingUnpredictabilityAnarcho CapitalismNeo NazismAnti Modernism
Book:The Forest Passage
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“Religio", as we know, harks back to a word (re-ligio) meaning "bond" and that is precisely what the anarch rejects. He does not go in for Moses with the Ten Commandments or, indeed, for any prophets. Nor does he wish to hear anything concerning gods or rumors about them, except as a historian - or unless they appear to him. That is when the conflicts begin. So, if I state, "in order to pray," I am following an innate instinct that is no weaker than the sexual drive - in fact, even stronger. The two are alike insofar as foul things can happen when they are suppressed.”

ReligionSexPrayerAnarch
Book:Eumeswil
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“The padres set great store by addressing prayer to personal gods: 'Genuine prayer exists only in religions in which there is a God as a person and a shape and endowed with a will.' That was stated by a famous Protestant. The anarch does not want to have anything to do with that conception. As for the One God: while he may be able to shape persons, he is not a person himself, and the he is already a patriarchal prejudice. A neuter One is beyond our grasp, while man converses ten with the Many Gods on equal terms, whether as their inventor or as their discoverer. In any case, it is man who named the gods. This is not to be confused with a high level soliloquy. Divinity must, without a doubt, be inside us and recognized as being inside us; otherwise we would have no concept of gods.”

ReligionPrayerDivinityGodsDivinity WithinAnarch
Book:Eumeswil
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“These moments of nocturnal prowling leave an indelible impression. Eyes and ears are tensed to the maximum, the rustling approach of strange feet in the tall grass in an unutterably menacing thing. Your breath comes in shallow bursts; you have to force yourself to stifle any panting or wheezing. There is a little mechanical click as the safety-catch of your pistol is taken off; the sound cuts straight through your nerves. Your teeth are grinding on the fuse-pin of the hand-grenade. The encounter will be short and murderous. You tremble with two contradictory impulses: the heightened awareness of the huntsmen, and the terror of the quarry. You are a world to yourself, saturated with the appalling aura of the savage landscape.”

TrenchesFirst World WarWwiNature Of WarSoldieringWar PsychologyStorm Of Steel
Author:Ernst Jünger
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“La lingua non vive di leggi proprie, perché altrimenti i grammatici sarebbero i signori del mondo. Nel profondo delle origini il Verbo non è più né forma né chiave. Diventa identico all’essere. Diventa potere creatore. Lì è la sua forza, immensa e impossibile da monetizzare. Qui possono darsi soltanto approssimazioni. La lingua tesse la sua opera intorno al silenzio, come l’oasi si stende intorno alla sorgente. E la poesia conferma che l’uomo è potuto penetrare nei giardini fuori dal tempo. Di questo, poi, il tempo vivrà.”

LinguaggioDer WaldgangJüngerTrattato Del Ribelle
Author:Ernst Jünger
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“These are the figures of steel whose eagle eyes dart between whirling propellers to pierce the cloud; who dare the hellish crossing through fields of roaring craters, gripped in the chaos of tank engines ... men relentlessly saturated with the spirit of battle, men whose urgent wanting discharges itself in a single concentrated and determined release of energy. As I watch them noiselessly slicing alleyways into barbed wire, digging steps to storm outward, synchronizing luminous watches, finding the North by the stars, the recognition flashes: this is the new man. The pioneers of storm, the elect of central Europe. A whole new race, intelligent, strong, men of will ... supple predators straining with energy. They will be architects building on the ruined foundations of the world.”

MasculinityWorld War OneStormtroopers
Book:Der Kampf als inneres Erlebnis
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“Ihr alle kennt die wilde Schwermut, die uns bei der Erinnerung an Zeiten des Glücks ergreift. Wie unwiderruflich sind sie doch dahin, und unbarmherziger sind wir von ihnen getrennt, als durch alle Entfernungen. Auch treten im Nachglanz die Bilder lockender hervor; wir denken an sie wie an den Körper einer toten Geliebten zurück, der tief in der Erde ruht und der uns nun gleich einer Wüstenspiegelung in einer höheren und geistigeren Pracht erschauern lässt. Und immer wieder tasten wir in unseren durstigen Träumen dem Vergangenen in jeder Einzelheit, in jeder Falte nach. Dann will es uns scheinen, als hätten wir das Maß des Lebens und der Liebe nicht bis zum Rande gefüllt gehabt, doch keine Reue bringt das Versäumte zurück. O möchte dieses Gefühl uns doch für jeden Augenblick des Glückes eine Lehre sein! Und süßer noch wird die Erinnerung an unsere Mond- und Sonnenjahre, wenn jäher Schrecken sie beendete. Dann erst begreifen wir, wie sehr es schon ein Glücksfall für uns Menschen ist, wenn wir in unseren kleinen Gemeinschaften dahinleben, unter friedlichem Dach, bei guten Gesprächen und mit liebevollem Gruß am Morgen und zur Nacht. Ach, stets zu spät erkennen wir, dass damit schon das Füllhorn reich für uns geöffnet war. Wisst Ihr, nicht die Schmerzen dieses Lebens, doch sein Übermut und seine wilde Fülle bringen, wenn wir uns an sie erinnern, uns den Tränen nah. Wenn wir zufrieden sind, genügen unseren Sinnen auch die kargsten Spenden dieser Welt. Und doch kommt alles Köstliche uns nur durch Zufall - das Beste geben die Götter uns umsonst. Leider kommt es, dass auf unbekannten Bahnen uns das Maß verlorengeht. Die Menschenordnung gleicht dem Kosmos darin, dass sie von Zeit zu Zeiten, um sich von neuem zu gebären, ins Feuer tauchen muss. Die Nähe des guten Lehrers gibt uns ein, was wir im Grunde wollen, und sie befähigt uns, wir selbst zu sein. Daher lebt uns das edle Vorbild tief im Herzen, weil wir an ihm erahnen, wessen wir fähig sind. Dies sei der Sinn des Lebens - die Schöpfung im Vergänglichen zu wiederholen, so wie das Kind im Spiel das Werk des Vaters wiederholt. Das sei der Sinn von Saat und Zeugung, von Bau und Ordnung, von Bild und Dichtung, dass in ihnen das große Werk sich künde wie in Spiegeln aus buntem Glase, das gar bald zerbricht. So leerten wir das Glas auf alte und ferne Freunde und auf die Länder dieser Welt. Uns alle fasst ja ein Bangen, wenn die Lüfte des Todes wehen. Dann essen und trinken wir im Sinnen, wie lange an diesen Tafeln noch Platz für uns bereitet ist. Denn die Erde ist schön. Und sollte die Erde wie ein Geschoss zerspringen Ist unsere Wandlung Feuer und weiße Glut. Doch müssen wir ja von jeder Stätte weichen, die uns auf Erden Herberge gab. Und doch dürfen wir auf dieser Erde nicht auf Vollendung rechnen, und glücklich ist der zu preisen, dessen Wille nicht allzu schmerzhaft in seinem Streben lebt. Es wird kein Haus gebaut, kein Plan geschaffen, in welchem nicht der Untergang als Grundstein steht, und nicht in unseren Werken ruht, was unvergänglich in uns lebt.”

ProsaGrabredeLetzte Worte
Author:Ernst Jünger
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“Throughout the war, it was always my endeavour to view my opponent without animus, and to form an opinion of him as a man on the basis of the courage he showed. I would always try and seek him out in combat and kill him, and I expected nothing else from him. But never did I entertain mean thoughts of him. When prisoners fell into my hands, later on, I felt responsible for their safety, and would always do everything in my power for them.”

First World WarWwiNature Of WarSoldieringStorm Of Steel
Book:Storm of Steel
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“In the space of a single year, a crumbling rural village had sprouted an army town, like a great parasitical growth. The former peacetime aspect of the place was barely discernible. The village pond was where the dragoons watered their horses, infantry exercised in the orchards, soldiers lay in the meadows sunning themselves. All the peacetime institutions collapsed, only what was needed for war remained. Hedges and fences were broken or simply torn down for easier access, and everywhere there were large signs giving directions to military traffic. While roofs caved in, and furniture was gradually used up as firewood, telephone lines and electricity cables were installed. Cellars were extended outwards and downwards to make bomb shelters for the residents; the removed earth was dumped in the gardens. The village no longer knew any demarcations or distinctions between thine and mine.”

InstitutionsFranceFirst World WarWwiErnst JüngerNature Of WarStorm Of Steel
Book:Storm of Steel
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“Die Nähe der Katze ist gut für den Menschen von ruhiger, betrachtender Lebensart. Dem musischen Menschen leistet die Katze besser Gesellschaft als der Hund. Sie stört die Gedanken, Traüme, Phantasien nicht. Sie ist ihnen sogar günstig durch eine sphinxhafte Ausstrahlung – sie sind dämonenfeindlich. Die Katze hängt nicht an der Person; sie ist treu wie der Hund. Die Katze ist nicht erwähnt in der Bibel.GES. WERKE. Band 11. 422.”

CatsErnst Jünger
Author:Ernst Jünger
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“L'iniziazione comporta che si faccia il vuoto, mentre la tensione cresce. Alla fine anche un granello si sabbia provoca dolore: cade come sulla pelle tesa di un tamburo. La casa viene imbiancata. Là dove il nuovo sopraggiunge deve esserci il vuoto. Anche il sepolcro viene imbiancato. Morire fa parte dell'iniziazione. È la crisi che precede la trasformazione. Un'approfondita analisi di essa da un punto di vista spirituale e morale conduce soltanto fino all'antisala: bisogna viverla. La morte deve essere attraversata, deve aver consacrato la casa. Il ciclone che si annuncia attraverso una crescente depressione non può essere evitato, né di fatto, né su un piano morale e intellettuale - non importa se si tratti di disgrazia personale o cosmica, ovvero della fine del mondo. Solo così è possibile superare entrambe. La strada da percorrere conduce al di là del punto zero, conduce oltre la linea, oltre il muro del tempo, e attraverso di esso. Nella crisi scompaiono le dimensioni; un'altra illusione ottica. La prossimità della morte modifica spazio e tempo. Anche nella cella spoglia della Tebaide, nella capanna nordica, refugium per la meditazione, nella tenda, circondata dalla gelida tormenta che ulula nella tundra, può prendere voce la formula dell'estremo svuotamento: «Dio è morto».”

Ernst JüngerAl Muro Del TempoIniziazioneMorte Di Dio
Book:Al muro del tempo
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