Christa Wolf

“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.”

“Night thoughts have a different color than day thoughts, a different slant, more than anything else they know all the secret paths and chinks in the armor they can take advantage of to force their way into consciousness.”

“Every system of power in the world has a vested interest in weakening the individuality of its subjects and tries to weaken or it possible completely extinguish it.”

“The real question is: How sturdy and solid is the floor our civilization stands on? How many lives with no prospects, shattered and senseless, can it bear the weight of before it cracks somewhere or other, splits at the joints?”

“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...”

“Between killing and dying there's a third way: live”

“Per il dolore, la felicità, l'amore non ci sono segni. E questo mi sembra di rara infelicità.”

“كم مرّة في عمرنا نستحيل آخرين, ونخسر الذين قضينا معهم أيام الشباب, ولنقُل البراءة؟”

“Aber alles, was wir aussprechen, muss wahr sein, weil wir es empfinden. Da haben Sie mein poetisches Geständnis”

“Das Ungenügen mit sich selbst ist der eigentliche Stachel.”

“Wann - wenn nicht jetzt Wann soll man leben wenn nicht in der Zeit die einem gegeben ist”

“Einmal im Leben zur rechten Zeit sollte man an Unmögliches geglaubt haben.”

“Denn ich ohne Bücher bin nicht ich.”

“Scheint es Dir abwegig, zu glauben, dass "das Denken", hätten Frauen seit über zweitausend Jahren an ihm mitgedacht, heute ein andres Leben führen würde?”

“Realist ist heute, wer auf dem Boden der Tatsachen steht - ein Boden, der in den Plänen dieser gleichen Realisten bereits verseucht ist.”

“[E]in Werk, und sei es eines der Verzweiflung, kann immer nur den Optimismus, den Glauben ans Leben zur letzten Substanz haben.”

“Wir können, was wir sehen, noch nicht glauben. Was wir schon glauben, nicht aussprechen.”

“Dammi un bacio" disse Rita. Stranamente commosso, Manfred avvolse il suo viso con le sue grandi mani calde e la baciò. "Stiamo bene insieme, noi due" disse lei piano, mentre si guardavano. "Le tue mani sono proprio fatte per me. E anche la bocca.”

“Era stata credula come una bambina, come fare a perdonarselo! Si era lasciata abbindolare da tutte quelle chiacchiere-chiacchiere questo erano: che l'uomo è buono, purchè gli se ne dia la possibilità. Che sciocchezze!Come era stupida la speranza che quell'egoismo nudo e crudo dipinto sulla faccia della maggior parte della gente potesse, un giorno, tramutarsi in comprensione e bontà.”

“In paese incontrò alcuni studenti in ferie. Ci si salutava, restando insieme per qualche minuto. una traccia di imbarazzo malgrado la reciproca confidenza. La consapevolezza che anche l'altro avvertiva che l'infanzia era definitivamente trascorsa.”

“Manfred sapeva assai bene che esiste una sorta di bravura che lascia del tutto fredda la persona in gamba.”

“Einmal, Mutter, in einer anderen Zeit, habe ich mit meinen beiden Händen zum Abschied deinen Kopf umspannt, seine Form ist als Abdruck in meinen Handflächen geblieben, auch Hände haben ein Gedächtnis.”