why does what was beautiful shatter in hindsight because it concealed dark truths?
Bernhard SchlinkRead
The tectonic layers of our lives rest so tightly one on top of the other that we always come up against earlier events in later ones, not as matter that has been fully formed and pushed aside, but absolutely present and alive. I understand this. Nonetheless, I sometimes find it hard to bear.
Interpretation
Our past experiences and events continue to influence our present and future.
This quote by Bernhard Schlink reflects on the intricate interplay between our past and present experiences. The metaphor of tectonic layers illustrates how our memories and earlier events are not merely remnants of history but remain active, shaping our current lives and sometimes creating burdens that are hard to carry.
In practice
In a discussion about how childhood experiences shape adult behavior.
why does what was beautiful shatter in hindsight because it concealed dark truths?
It wasn't that I forgot Hanna. But at a certain point the memory of her stopped accompanying me wherever I went. She stayed behind, the way a city stays behind as a train pulls out of the station. It's there, somewhere behind you, and you could go back and make sure of it. But why should you?
She was struggling, as she always had struggled, not to show what she could do but to hide what she couldn't do. A life made up of advances that were actually frantic retreats and victories that were concealed defeats.
Desires, memories, fears, passions form labyrinths in which we lose and find and then lose ourselves again.
...I had to point at Hanna. But the finger I pointed at her turned back to me. I had loved her. I tried to tell myself that I had known nothing of what she had done when I chose her. I tried to talk myself into the state of innocence in which children love their parents. But love of our parents is the only love for which we are not responsible. ...And perhaps we are responsible even for the love we feel for our parents.
I took all the blame. I admitted mistakes I hadn't made, intentions I'd never had. Whenever she turned cold and hard, I begged her to be good to me again, to forgive me and love me. Sometimes I had the feeling that she hurt herself when she turned cold and rigid. As if what she was yearning for was the warmth of my apologies, protestations, and entreaties. Sometimes I thought she just bullied me. But either way, I had no choice.
The hero is strangely akin to those who die young.
Not how the world is, but that it is, is the mystery.
Hubris calls for nemesis, and in one form or another it's going to get it, not as a punishment from outside but as the completion of a pattern already started.
Murder is unique in that it abolishes the party it injures, so that society has to take the place of the victim and on his behalf demand atonement or grant forgiveness; it is the one crime in which society has a direct interest.
All things human hang by a slender thread; and that which seemed to stand strong suddenly falls and sinks in ruins.
Was there ever in anyone's life span a point free in time, devoid of memory, a night when choice was any more than the sum of all the choices gone before?
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