Irmgard Keun Quotes

I continue to write because my hand wants something to do and my notebook with its white lined pages has a kind of readiness to receive my thoughts and my tiredness and to be a bed that my letters can lie in. That way at least part of me has a place to lie down.

Yes, there are stars," I lie and I give them to him--there are no stars--but there must be some behind the clouds and they must be shining inside-out tonight. I love stars, but I hardly ever notice them. I guess when you're blind, you realize how much you forget to see.

And sometimes somebody is laughing--and that laugh is stuffing all of yesterday's and today's anger back into the mouth that it's oozing from.

And they would laugh at me. The dress was all sticking out around me and it was dark green with a pattern of animals with long tongues on it--and all the kids were laughing at me. And now I'm wearing a fur coat, and I'm in Berlin! And I would throw rocks at them and swear to myself that I would not be the kind that is laughed at, but that I would do the laughing.

There are bars with women wearing shirts with stiff necks and ties and they are terribly proud to be perverts, as if that weren't something nobody can do anything about.

That says a lot, if somebody pleases you - love is so much more that I'm thinking, perhaps it doesn't exist at all.

I've known for ages that men and women are animals by nature, I've also known that we have a sacred duty to make something different of ourselves, and I still believe that we have the strength and the chance to be more than we are. Through ourselves? Despite ourselves? Doesn't matter, I still believe…

But I say: "Tilli, sometimes women too are sensual and want only that one thing." And there's no difference. Because sometimes I only want to wake up with someone in the morning, all messed up from kissing and half dead and without any energy to think, but wonderfully tired and rested at the same time.

The city isn't good and the city isn't happy and the city is sick," he says--"but you are good and I thank you for that.

I used to think you could help people only with money. Actually, you can't really help anyone, but you can give them pleasure.

And it was then that I knew what it means to be lucky--lucky to have met a person during those three minutes of the day that he's good. Because I have a lot of time on my hands--you can imagine that that adds up. there are 24 hours in a day, and half of that is night. That leaves you with 12. And that's 12 times 60 minutes, that is, 720 minutes minus three minutes of goodness still leaves you with 717 minutes worth of nasty ordinary person.

And now I feel like crying, because I really do not understand, and I don't think I will when I'm older either. It was only when I loved Franz I understood the world, and felt happy. When you love, you're praying. Everything was quite clear. I wanted to be good. I think you begin things the right way when you want to be good. And I think I'm doing everything wrong now because all I want is for people to be good to me. I want to be loved, everybody wants to be loved; for a thousand people who want to be loved there may perhaps be just one who wants to love. Our Father which art in heaven ... my heart is all a lump of grief.

It's our age-old hereditary sorrow that no-one can give himself absolution and God can't, either. God - this little figment of overworked imagination, God - this pallid lie born of desperation - we say God - and we mean humanity, ourselves and others. The longing for a human being is genuine - a human being is more than God - a human being is a beast and God. Longing for God - damned laziness which costs nothing. Mild, bloodless hysteria. Longing for a human being - you pay for that with your blood and with your self and with your flesh - your longing for God can be settled with promissory notes - rags -paper - a drop of red blood is worth more than three prayers.

He'd be much, much more in love with the little one if he could give her nice clothes and diamonds and soft furs… that's just the way it is: the more brilliant and impressive a role you can play for someone, the more you love them.

Gilgi is drifting in the river of superfluous feelings. Superfluous? They were once, they seemed to be once. Isn't she happy? Of course she is. Often. But the hours of happiness come at a high price. The bill is presented promptly. Pay it! With what? With fear and twinges of pain. No, I don't think the price is too high, I just find the currency strange. Fear - pain! To whom should I pay them? Who profits from this odd currency?