Thomas Mann, fully Paul Thomas Mann

Thomas
Mann, fully Paul Thomas Mann
1875
1955

German Novelist, Essayist, Short Story Writer, Social Critic, Philanthropist, Awarded Nobel Prize for his Novels

Author Quotes

The sea is vast, the sea is wide, my eyes roved far and wide and longed to be

This is going to be an awful year. It doesn't seem likely that anything gets done.

We know that and will not wean until something new is the only way that keeps our lives, refreshes our sense of time - the only one which allows us to rejuvenate, strengthen, release our experience of time and thus to renew our sense of life in general.

What we call National-Socialism is the poisonous perversion of ideas which have a long history in German intellectual life.

And beyond the Wegknies, between hill and mountain wall between the rusty colored pines, through whose branches sunbeams fell, it happened and went wonderful that Castorp, left by Joachim, who overtook lovely sick that he with male kicks her passing by, and in the moment when he to the right of her was, with a hatless bow and spoken in a low voice, 'Good morning,' she respectfully (why actually: respectfully) welcomed and answer from her received: courtesy not more astonished head tilt, she thanked, also said in turn good morning in his own language, with her ??eyes smiled, - and all this was something else, something thoroughly and blissful but the look on his boots, it was a stroke of luck and a turn of events for good and very best, quite unprecedented way and almost the comprehension border, it was the salvation.

But my deepest and most secret love belongs to the fair-haired and the blue-eyed, the bright children of life, the happy, the charming and the ordinary.

Every reasonable human being should be a moderate Socialist.

Has the world ever been changed by anything save the thought and its magic vehicle the Word?

Human reason needs only to will more strongly than fate, and she is fate.

I will let death have no mastery over my thoughts! For therein, and in nothing else, lies goodness and love of humankind.

It is a deep-lying patriarchal instinct in the dog which leads him-at least in the more manly, outdoor breeds-to recognize and honor in the man of the house and head of the family his absolute master and overlord, protector of the hearth; and to find in the relation of vassalage to him the basis and value of his own existence, whereas his attitude toward the rest of the family is much more independent.

Looking, he thought that to come to Venice by the station is like entering a palace by the back door.

O scenes of the beautiful world! Never have you presented yourself to more appreciative eyes.

Politics has been called the art of the possible, and it actually is a realm akin to art insofar as, like art, it occupies a creatively mediating position between spirit and life, the idea and reality.

Sometimes a person begins with opinions and judgments and valid criticisms, but then things creep in that have nothing to do with forming opinions, and then it’s all over with strict logic, and what you end up with is an absurd world republic and beautiful style.

The fact is that everyone is much too busily preoccupied with himself to be able to form a serious opinion about another person. The indolent world is all too ready to treat any man with whatever degree of respect corresponds to his own self-confidence.

The task of a writer consists of being able to make something out of an idea.

This longing for the bliss of the commonplace.

We, when we sow the seeds of doubt deeper than the most up-to-date and modish free-thought has ever dreamed of doing, we well know what we are about. Only out of radical skeptics, out of moral chaos, can the Absolute spring, the anointed Terror of which the time has need.

Whatever profits man, that is the truth. In him all nature is comprehended, in all nature only he is created, and all nature only for him. He is the measure of all things, and his welfare is the sole and single criterion of truth.

And for its part, what was life? Was it perhaps only an infectious disease of matter—just as the so-called spontaneous generation of matter was perhaps only an illness, a cancerous stimulation of the immaterial?

But sometimes a person begins with opinions and judgments and valid criticisms, but then things creep in that have nothing to do with forming opinions, and then it’s all over with strict logic, and what you end up with is an absurd world republic and beautiful style.

Everything is politics.

He is no longer with me—by my orders—but then that is merel the carrying-out of an order, after all a kind of negative being-with-me, as he would say. As for any independent life which Bashan might lead without me during these hours—that is not to be thought of.

I admire the proud and cold who go adventuring on the paths of great and demoniac beauty, and scorn man — but I do not envy them. For if anything is capable of making a poet out of a man of letters, it is this plebeian love of mine for the human, living, and commonplace. All warmth, all goodness, all humor is born of it, and it almost seems to me as if it were that love itself, of which it is written that a man might speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and yet without it be no more than sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal.

Author Picture
First Name
Thomas
Last Name
Mann, fully Paul Thomas Mann
Birth Date
1875
Death Date
1955
Bio

German Novelist, Essayist, Short Story Writer, Social Critic, Philanthropist, Awarded Nobel Prize for his Novels