The real life, he says, is so different ... In any case, he thinks that he thinks: you don't recognize a clear process and no common thread, it just drives up, without a section and without deed, the passion rushes into a mood, and the decisions are like sand that runs softly through your fingers , again and again you take a new handful, and if you open it, nothing has remained in it again, you are desperate, and that also melted, like hope and cheers and pain and pain Everything like the whole life.
by Max Frisch
(0 Reviews)

The passage reflects on the nature of real life, contrasting it with a lack of clarity and structure. The speaker expresses frustration with the absence of a discernible process or continuity in life's journey. As emotions surge, decisions feel fleeting and insubstantial, evoking a sense of desperation and futility. The metaphor of sand slipping through fingers encapsulates the feeling that efforts and resolutions are transient and ultimately unfulfilling.

This sentiment highlights the complexities of existence, where hope, joy, and suffering blend into one overwhelming experience. Life appears to be a series of moments and choices that, despite their importance at the time, often leave us feeling empty. The author, Max Frisch, conveys a deep philosophical reflection on the human condition, emphasizing the elusive nature of fulfillment and understanding amid life's chaos.

Stats

Categories
Author
Votes
0
Page views
2
Update
February 24, 2025

Rate the Quote

Add Comment & Review

User Reviews

Based on 0 reviews
5 Star
0
4 Star
0
3 Star
0
2 Star
0
1 Star
0
Add Comment & Review
We'll never share your email with anyone else.
More »

Popular quotes

Taffy. He thinks about taffy. He thinks it would take his teeth out now, but he would eat it anyhow, if it meant eating it with her.
by Mitch Albom
Small towns are like metronomes; with the slightest flick, the beat changes.
by Mitch Albom
Look, if you say that science will eventually prove there is no God, on that I must differ. No matter how small they take it back, to a tadpole, to an atom, there is always something they can't explain, something that created it all at the end of the search. And no matter how far they try to go the other way – to extend life, play around with the genes, clone this, clone that, live to one hundred and fifty – at some point, life is over. And then what happens? When the life comes to an end? I shrugged. You see? He leaned back. He smiled. When you come to the end, that's where God begins.
by Mitch Albom
You say you should have died instead of me. But during my time on earth, people died instead of me, too. It happens every day. When lightning strikes a minute after you are gone, or an airplane crashes that you might have been on. When your colleague falls ill and you do not. We think such things are random. But there is a balance to it all. One withers, another grows. Birth and death are part of a whole.
by Mitch Albom
we get so many lives between birth and death. A life to be a child. A life to come of age. A life to wander, to settle, to fall in love, to parent, to test our promise, to realize our mortality-and, in some lucky cases, to do something after that realization.
by Mitch Albom
I have the tendency to be nervous at the sight of trouble looming. As the danger draws near, I become less nervous. When the peril is at hand, I swell with fierceness. As I grapple with my assailant, I am without fear and fight to the finish with little thought of injury.
by Jean Sasson
But an ink brush, she thinks, is a skeleton key for a prisoner's mind.
by David Mitchell
There's lying," says Mum, fishing out the envelope she wrote the directions on from her handbag, "which is wrong, and there's creating the right impression, which is necessary.
by David Mitchell
The nun said, I can forgive the language. I'm not sure I can forgive your making an obscene gesture at your mother. Ya gotta know her, Holland said. If you knew her, you'd give her the finger, too.
by John Sandford
Unlimited power in the hands of limited people always leads to cruelty.
by David Mitchell