And so they are ever returning to us, the dead. At times they come back from the ice more than seven decades later and are found at the edge of the moraine, a few polished bones and a pair of hobnailed boots.
Interpretation
This quote reflects on the idea of the past and how memories and remnants of those who have passed away continue to influence us.
W. G. Sebald's quote speaks to the persistent presence of the deceased in our lives, suggesting that their memories and remnants, such as physical items or even their influence, are never truly gone. The imagery of discovering the remains of those long gone evokes a sense of continuity between past and present, indicating that our connection to those who preceded us is deep and ongoing, often surfacing in unexpected ways.
In practice
In a speech about family heritage, one might say, 'As W. G. Sebald illustrates, our ancestors are ever returning to us through their memories and impacts on our lives.'
How happily, said Austerlitz, have I sat over a book in the deepening twilight until I could no longer make out the words and my mind began to wander, and how secure have I felt seated at the desk in my house in the dark night, just watching the tip of my pencil in the lamplight following its shadow, as if of its own accord and with perfect fidelity, while that shadow moved regularly from left to right, line by line, over the ruled paper.
When I was a boy, I'd hide under the kitchen table and wind string around the chairs. I have a sense now that I am pulling on those threads. The more I pull, the more it comes unraveled.
If you're based in two places, on a bad day you see only the disadvantages everywhere. On a bad day, returning to Germany brings back all kinds of spectres from the past.
The seasons and the years came and went...and always...one was, as the crow flies, about 2,000 km away - but from where? - and day by day hour by hour, with every beat of the pulse, one lost more and more of one's qualities, became less comprehensible to oneself, increasingly abstract.
You could grow up in Germany in the postwar years without ever meeting a Jewish person. There were small communities in Frankfurt or Berlin, but in a provincial town in south Germany, Jewish people didn't exist.
No matter whether one is flying over Newfoundland or the sea of lights that stretches from Boston to Philadelphia after nightfall, over the Arabian deserts which gleam like mother-of-pearl, over the Ruhr or the city of Frankfurt, it is as though there were no people, only the things they have made and in which they are hiding.
For a time Jack was angry; but when he had been without the jacket for a short while he began to realize that being half-clothed is infinitely more uncomfortable than being entirely naked. Soon he did not miss his clothing in the least, and from that he came to revel in the freedom of his unhampered state.
For me Christ was not to be bought for thirty pieces of silver but with my heart's blood. We buy not cheap in this market.
From what may anyone be saved? Only from themselves! That is, their individual hell. They dig it with their own desires.
I'm a novelist, so I can't write about ideas unless they're attached to people.
It seems the most logical thing in the world to believe that the natural resources of the Earth, upon which the race depends for food, clothing and shelter, should be owned collectively by the race instead of being the private property of a few social parasites.
I do not confer praise or blame: I accept. I am the measure of all things. I am the center of the world.
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