But I no longer look to the stars, or seek in books; I have started to hear the lessons roared and murmured by the blood in my body. My story is not a happy one, not pleasing and harmonious like something invented - it reeks of meaninglessness and confusion, of insanity and dream, like the life of anyone who no longer wishes to lie to himself.
( Hermann Hesse )
[ Demian. Die Geschichte von ]
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