Bernhard Schlink

“Eu concedera-lhe um pequeno nicho, exactamente um nicho, que era importante para mim, que me dava algo e pelo qual eu fazia alguma coisa, mas não um lugar na minha vida.”

“Pensei que, quando se deixa passar o momento certo, quando alguém recusou algo tempo de mais, quando nos é recusado algo tempo de mais, esse algo chega forçosamente demasiado tarde mesmo que seja realmente desejado com força e acolhido com alegria.”

“Afinal eu sabia por experiência própria que a vergonha nos força a ter um comportamento esquivo, defensivo, a ocultar e a simular as coisas, inclusivamente a ferir os outros.”

“Sé que me pareció hermosa. Pero no consigo evocar su hermosura.”

“Bravery is good when the cause is good.”

“The value of being brave, working hard, saving money keeping order depends on what it's for.”

“It is as if people refused to leave their dead alone, forced them back into the light, made them keep their composure even in death.”

“She liked being alone, and she was alone a lot. When she met people, she often found them deeply strange, their behavior incomprehensible, their confidence unsettling.”

“Philosophy has forgotten about children”

“When we open ourselvesyou yourself to me and I myself to you,when we submergeyou into me and I into youwhen we vanishinto me you and into you IThenam I meand you are you.”

“The outside world, the world of free time in the yard or the garden or on the street, is only a distant murmur in the sickroom. Inside, a whole world of characters and stories proliferate out of the books you read. The fever that weakens your perception as it sharpens your imagination turns the sickroom into something new, both familiar and strange; monsters come grinning out of the patterns on the curtains and the carpet, and chairs, tables, bookcases and wardrobes burst out of their normal shapes and become mountains and buildings and ships you can almost touch although they're far away”

“I know that I found it beautiful. But I cannot recapture it's beauty.”

“Er suchte nicht das leichte Leben, sonderen das schöne. Er gierte nicht nach Geld, er spielte damit.”

“Einem Scheich läuft eine Frau mit einem anderen Mann davon. Sie ist seine Lieblingsfrau, sein Augapfel, jung und schön wie der Morgen. Der Scheich ist traurig, aber obwohl er ein stolzer Mann ist, hat er ein großes Herz und versteht, dass eine Frau, die liebt, ihrer Liebe folgt. Jahre später tötet der neue Mann die Frau im Zorn. Der Scheich, der toleriert hat, dass sein Eigentum seiner eigenen Wege geht, toleriert nicht, dass jemand anderes sein Eigentum zerstört. Also lässt er den neuen Mann erschlagen.”

“Als ich aus Kuwait zurückkam, war das Geld auf meinem Konto. Was hätte ich machen sollen? Nach Kuwait fliegen und dem Attache sagen, er solle sein Geld wieder nehmen und mir meien Freundin wiedergeben? Mich, wenn er mir ins Geischt lacht, beim Emir beschweren? Unseren Außenminister bitten, er soll mit dem Emir sprechen? Hätte ich ein paar Kerle von der Russenmafia engagieren und mit ihnen die Anlage aufrollen sollen, in der der Attache gewohnt und sie vermutlich gefangen gehalten hat? Ich weiß, ein richtiger Mann, der seine Frau liebt, haut sie raus. Wenn er dabei zugrunde geht, geht er dabei zugrunde. Besser mit Anstand sterben als in Feigheit leben. Ich weiß auch, dass ich mit drei Millionen eigentlich genug Geld hatte, um mir Russen und die Waffen und den Hubschrauber und was man sonst noch braucht zu besorgen. Aber das ist Film. Das ist nicht meine Welt. Das kann ich nicht. Die Kerle von der Russenmafia würden mir einfach Geld abnehmen, und die Waffen wären verrostet, und der Hubschrauber hätte einen Getriebesschaden.”

“Ich dachte früher, wer nicht mehr zu lange zu leben hat, sagt die Wahrheit.Aber vielleicht sind die, die nicht mehr lange zu leben haben, die schlimmsten Lügner. Wenn sie sichjetzt nicht in Szene setzen, wann dann? Die Wahrheit... Was ist die Wahrheit, auf die der Richter einem keinen Brief und kein Siegel gibt? Und was die Lüge, auf die er es einem gibt? Was ist die Wahrheit, wenn sie nur durch die Köpfe vagabundiert und nicht gehörig festgestellt wird?”

“Es war kein Abenteuer-,sondern ein Reiche-Leute-Urlaub; die Infrastruktur ist wie in Florida, die Restaurants haben französische Köche, die Picknicks werden an Tischen mit Tischdecken, Porzellan und Sillber serviert, und wir wurden in großen Autos chauffiert. Es war beeindruckend. Aber ich war froh, wenn wir abends in unserer Suite waren. Oder wenn wir morgens auf dem Balkon saßen und die Sonne aufgehen sahen. Ob am Mittelmeer oder an der Nordsee - wir hatten die Sonne schon oft im Meer versinken, aber noch nie daraus aufstiegen sehen.”

“Schalftrunken, farbentrunken, freiheitstrunken - ich weiß nicht, wo ich bin und wo wir fahren. Ich habe vergessen, wo ich herkomme.”

“Sie hatten Angst vor dem Abschied, und zugleich versetzte sein Bevorstehen sie in eigentümliche Leichtigkeit. Sie waren nicht mehr im gemeinsamen und noch nicht im eigenen Leben, sie waren im Niemandsland.”

“Flucht ist hier nicht die Beschäftigung mit der Vergangenheit, sondern gerade die entschlossene Konzentration auf Gegenwart und Zukunft, die blind ist für das Erbe der Vergangenheit, von dem wir geprägt sind und mit dem wir leben müssen”

“Weil die Wahrheit dessen, was man redet, das ist, was man tut, kann man das Reden auch lassen.”

“Which animal do you see when you hold me and close your eyes and think of animals?”

“I knew none of it then - if indeed I know any of it now and am not just making patterns in the air.”

“Since our nights together on that trip, I had longed every night to feel her next to me, to curl up against her, my stomach against her behind and my chest against her back, to rest my hand on her breasts, to reach out for her when I woke up in the night, find her, push my leg over her legs, and press my face against her shoulder.”

“When she had fallen asleep on me, and the saw in the yard was quiet, and a blackbird was singing as the colors of things in the kitchen dimmed until nothing remained of them but lighter and darker shades of gray, I was completely happy.”

“She was struggling, as she always had struggled, not to show what she could do but to hide what she couldn't do. A life made up of advances that were actually frantic retreats and victories that were concealed defeats.”

“Se ora penso agli anni di allora, mi colpisce quanto poco ci fosse in realtà da vedere, quante poche immagini illustrassero la vita e la morte nei Lager. Conoscevamo di Auschwitz il portale con la sua scritta, i pancacci di legno a più piani, i mucchi di capelli, occhiali e valigie; di Birkenau l'entrata con la torre, i corpi laterali e il passaggio per i treni; e da Bergen-Belsen ci venivano le montagne di cadaveri trovate e fotografate dagli alleati al momento della liberazione. Conoscevamo alcune testimonianze di detenuti, ma molti libri apparvero subito dopo la guerra e vennero ristampati solo negli anni Ottanta, visto che nel frattempo non rientrarono nei programmi delle case editrici. Ora ci sono così tanti libri e film che il mondo dei Lager è ormai parte dell'immaginario collettivo che completa il mondo reale. La fantasia lo conosce ormai bene, e a partire dalla serie televisiva Olocausto e da film come La scelta di Sophie e soprattutto Schindler's list si muove anche in quel mondo. E non ne prende solo atto, ma integra e abbellisce. Allora la fantasia stentava a muoversi; riteneva che allo sgomento di cui era debitrice al mondo dei Lager non si confacessero le movenze della fantasia. Quelle poche immagini che doveva alle foto degli alleati e alle testimonianze dei detenuti, le ha poi guardate riguardate, fino a farne dei cliché.”

“Al tempo stesso mi chiedo, e cominciai a chiedermelo già allora: ma cosa doveva e deve farsene, la mia generazione di nati dopo, delle informazioni sulle atrocità dello sterminio degli ebrei? Noi non dobbiamo pensare di poter comprendere ciò che è incomprensibile, non possiamo comparare ciò che è incomparabile, non possiamo indagare, perché chi indaga sulle atrocità, anche se non le mette in discussione, ne fa comunque un oggetto di comunicazione e non ottiene che qualcosa di fronte a cui può solo ammutolire per l'orrore, la colpa e la vergogna. Dobbiamo solo ammutolire per l'orrore, la colpa e la vergogna? A quale scopo? No, non è che l'ardore della rielaborazione e lo zero di far luce, con cui avevo partecipato seminario, fossero andati perduti durante il dibattimento. Ma che solo pochi venissero condannati e puniti e che noi, la generazione venuta dopo, ci ritrovassimo ammutoliti dall'orrore, dalla colpa e dalla vergogna: era giusto che fosse così?”

“Che tempi maledetti sono i periodi di malattia nell'infanzia e nell'adolescenza! Il mondo esterno, il mondo del tempo libero in cortile o in giardino, oppure per strada, penetra nella stanza del malato solo mediante rumori ovattati. Dentro prolifera il mondo delle storie con i loro eroi, di cui il malato legge. La febbre, che indebolisce la percezione e acuisce la fantasia, trasforma la stanza del malato in uno spazio nuovo, familiare ed estraneo al contempo; dei mostri emergono con le loro smorfie dei disegni delle tendine della tappezzeria, e le sedie, il tavolo, gli scaffali e l'armadio si ergono come montagne, palazzi o navi, tanto vicini da poterli toccare, eppure così lontani. I rintocchi dell'orologio del campanile, il rombo di una macchina che passa e le luci riflesse dei fari, che perlustrano le pareti e soffitto della stanza, accompagnano il malato attraverso le lunghe ore della notte. Sono ore senza sonno, ma non ore insonni; non ore di carenza ma di pienezza. Desideri, ricordi, paure e voglie combinano dei labirinti in cui il malato si perde, si ritrova e si perde. Sono ore in cui tutto è possibile, sia nel bene che nel male.”

“Being ill when you are a child or growing up is such an enchanted interlude! The outside world, the world of free time in the yard or the garden or on the street, is only a distant murmmur in the sickroom. Inside, a whole world of characters and stories proliferate out of the books you read. The fever that weakens your perception as it sharpens your imagination turns the sickroom into something new, both familiar and strange; monsters come grinning out of the patterns on the curtains and the carpet, and chairs, tables, bookcases and wardrobes burst out of their normal shapes and become mountains and buildings and ships you can almost touch although they're far away. Through the long hours of the night you have the Church clock for company and the rumble of the occasional passing car that throws it's headlights across the walls and ceilings. These are hours without sleep, which is not to say they're sleepless, because on the contrary, they're not about lack of anything, they are rich and full. Desires, memories, fears, passions form labryinths in which we lose and find then lose ourselves again. They are hours where anything is possible, good or bad.”

“Desires, memories, fears, passions form labyrinths in which we lose and find and then lose ourselves again.”

“why does what was beautiful shatter in hindsight because it concealed dark truths?”

“The truth of what one says lies in what one does.”

“Când ne deschidemtu mie şi eu ţie,când ne scufundămtu în mine şi eu în tine,când ne pierdemtu în mine şi eu în tine,Abia atuncieu sunt euşi tu eşti tu.”

“So I was still guilty. And if I was not guilty because one cannot be guilty of betraying a criminal, then I was guilty of having loved a criminal.”

“They waited awhile before lighting the candles; the gloom allowed the past to slip cozily into the present. But the memories were of a time that was gone and didn't overshadow the present. But the memories were vivid, and they made the freinds feel both young and old...When Chrsitanne finally lit the candles and they saw one another clearly again, she was happy to see in the old faces of the others the young faces they had come across in their memories. we store our youth wihtin us, we can go back to it and find ourselves in it, but it is past--melancholy filled their hearsts, and sympahty, for one another and for themsleves.”

“To me it was obvious that experimental literature was experimenting on the reader, and Hanna didn't need that and neither did I.”

“I didn't like the way I looked, the way I dressed and moved, what I achieved and what I felt I was worth. But there was so much energy in me, such belief that one day I'd be handsome and clever and superior and admired, such anticipation when I met new people and new situations. Is that what makes me sad? The eagerness and belief that filled me then and exacted a pledge from life that life could never fulfill? Sometimes I see the same eagerness and belief in the faces of children and teenagers and the sight brings back the same sadness I feel in remembering myself.”

“But then she was not awkward, she was slow-flowing, graceful, seductive - a seductiveness that had nothing to do with breast and hips and legs, but was an invitation to forget the world in the recesses of the body”

“Er erlebte die Stadt wie einen Wald. Er dachte: Sie liegt nicht auf einer Insel, sie ist die Insel. Sie ist nicht in eine Landschaft gebaut, sondern ist die Landschaft. Eine Landschaft von steinerner Vegetation, die den Menschen nicht gehört, in die sie erst Schneisen schlagen und in der sie ihre Wohnungen erst begründen müssen. Die Schneisen und Wohnorte können von der Vegetation auch wieder eingeholt und überwuchert werden. Manchmal stieß er auf abgerissene Häusergevierte, Trümmergrundstücke, Fassaden mit leeren oder vermauerten Türen und Fenstern – wie vom Krieg verwüstet, und weil es keinen Krieg gegeben hatte, wie von der Natur ergriffen. diesmal nicht der wuchernden des Waldes, sondern der wütenden eines Erdbebens. Und wie wachsende Kristalle die hochstrebenden neuen Bauten.”

“Did my moral upbrining somehow turn against itself? If looking at someone with desire was as bad as satisfying the desire, if having an active fantasy was as bad as the act you were fantasizing- then why not the satisfaction and the act itself? As the days went on, I discovered that I couldn't stop thinking sinful thoughts. In which case I also wanted the sin itself.”

“We make our own truths and lies....Truths are often lies and lies truths...”

“It wasn't that I forgot Hanna. But at a certain point the memory of her stopped accompanying me wherever I went. She stayed behind, the way a city stays behind as a train pulls out of the station. It's there, somewhere behind you, and you could go back and make sure of it. But why should you?”

“People who commit monstrous crimes are not necessarily monsters. If they were, things would be easy. But they aren't and it is one of the experiences of life.”

“...So I stopped talking about it. There's no need to talk, because the truth of what one says lies in what one does.”

“...I had to point at Hanna. But the finger I pointed at her turned back to me. I had loved her. I tried to tell myself that I had known nothing of what she had done when I chose her. I tried to talk myself into the state of innocence in which children love their parents. But love of our parents is the only love for which we are not responsible. ...And perhaps we are responsible even for the love we feel for our parents.”

“I'm not frightened. I'm not frightened of anything. The more I suffer, the more I love. Danger will only increase my love. It will sharpen it, forgive its vice. I will be the only angel you need. You will leave life even more beautiful than you entered it. Heaven will take you back and look at you and say: Only one thing can make a soul complete and that thing is love.”

“When an airplane's engines fail, it is not the end of the flight.”

“I reread the Odyssey at that time, which I had first read in school and remembered as a story of a homecoming.But it is not a story of a homecoming. How could the Greeks who knew that one never enters the same river twice, believe in homecoming? Odysseus does not return home to stay, but to set off again. The Odyssey is the story of motion both purposeful and purposeless, successful and futile.”

“What should our second generation have done, what should it do with the knowledge of the horrors of the extermination of the Jews? We should not believe we can comprehend the incomprehensible, we may not compare the incomparable, we may not inquire because to inquire is to make the horrors an object of discussion, even if the horrors themselves are not questioned, instead of accepting them as something in the face of which we can only fall silent in revulsion, shame and guilt. Should we only fall silent in revulsion, shame and guilt? To what purpose?”