August Strindberg Quotes

Life is not so idiotically mathematical that only the big eat the small; it is just as common for a bee to kill a lion or at least to drive it mad.

There are poisons that blind you, and poisons that open your eyes.

It's wonderful how, the moment you talk about God and love, your voice becomes hard, and your eyes fill with hatred. No, Margret, you certainly haven't the true faith.

I dream, therefore I exist.

Autumn is my spring!

I, too, am beginning to feel an immense need to become a savage and create a new world.

Love between a man and woman is war.

if you are afraid of loneliness, don't get married

We are already in Hell. It is the earth itself that is Hell, the prison constructed for us by an intelligence superior to our own, in which I could not take a step without injuring the happiness of others, and in which my fellow creatures could not enjoy their own happiness without causing me pain.

The further from one another, the nearer one can be.

And why does man weep when he is sad? I asked at last—Because the glass in the eyes must be washed now and then, so that we can see clearly, said the child.

Everything can happen, everything is possible and probable. Time and place do not exist; on an insignificant basis of reality the imagination spins, weaving new patterns; a mixture of memories, experiences, free fancies, incongruities and improvisations.

I loathe people who keep dogs. They are cowards who haven't got the guts to bite people themselves.

Those who won't accept evil never get anything good.

You are impossible. You are only a realist, and therefore nothing happens to you.

A man with a so-called character is often a simple piece of mechanism; he has often only one point of view for the extremely complicated relationships of life.

One gets more and more humble the longer one lives, and in the shadow of death many things look different.

He saw the cause of his unhappiness in the family--the family as a social institution, which does not permit the child to become an independent individual at the proper time.

as soon as a work of art is of practical use, betrays a purpose or a tendency its beauty vanishes.

Every moment of enjoyment Brings to some one else a sorrow, But your sorrow gladdens no one, For from sorrow naught but sorrow springs.

How sweet is life after all, when the mist of a mild intoxication casts its veil over the miseries of existence.

I am a socialist, a nihilist, a republican, anything that is anti-reactionary!... I want to turn everything upside down to see what lies beneath; I believe we are so webbed, so horribly regimented, that no spring-cleaning is possible, everything must be burned, blown to bits, and then we can start afresh...

At last everything was satisfactorily arranged, and I could not help admiring the setting: these mingled touches betrayed on a small scale the inspiration of a poet, the research of a scientist, the good taste of an artist, the gourmet’s fondness for good food, and the love of flowers, which concealed in their delicate shadows a hint of the love of women

Yes, I am crying although I am a man. But has not a man eyes! Has not a man hands, limbs, senses, thoughts, passions? Is he not fed with the wine food, hurt by the same weapons, warmed and cooled by the same summer and winter as a woman? If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? And if you poison us, do we not die? Why shouldn't a man complain, a soldier weep? Because it is unmanly? Why is it unmanly?

Henrik Ibsen hung a picture of August Strindberg over his desk. “He is my mortal enemy and shall hang there and watch while I write!” explained Ibsen.

For the whole of life consists of nothing but contradictions. The rich are the poor in spirit; the many little men hold the power, and the great only serve the little men. I've never met such proud people as the humble; I've never met an uneducated man who didn't believe himself in a position to criticise learning and to do without it.

The ball was held in a middle-class home. The girls were anemic - some of them; the others were red as raspberries. John liked the pale ones best, the ones with black or blue rings round their eyes. They looked so sad and suffering and pitiable, and they cast tender yearning glances at him, such yearning glances.

This feeling of power, it's happiness to sit in a cottage by the Danube among six women who think I'm semi-idiot, and to know that in Paris, the headquarters of intelligence, 500 people are sitting dead-quiet in the auditorium and are foolish enough to expose their brains to my powers of suggestion. Some revolt! But many will go away with my spores in their gray matter. They will go home pregnant with the seed of my soul, and they will breed my brood.

I so despise people who keep dogs, they are cowards that havent got the curridge to bite themselfs

When women grow old and cease being women, they get beards on their chins; I wonder what men get when they grow old and cease to be men?

Ah, what is then this earthly life, But grief, affliction and great strife? E’en when fairest it has seemed, Nought but pain it can be deemed.

The mother was your friend, you see, but the woman was your enemy, and love between the sexes is strife. Do not think that I gave myself; I did not give, but I took—what I wanted.

Family ... the home of all social evil, a charitable institution for comfortable women, an anchorage for house-fathers, and a hell for children.

Speaking at last becomes a vice, like drinking. And why speak, if words do not cloak thoughts ?

Av - att vara till; att känna min syn försvagad av ett öga, min hörsel förslöad av ett öra, och min tanke, min luftiga ljusa tanke bunden i fettslyngors labyrinter. Du har ju sett en hjärna... vilka krokvägar, vilka krypvägar...

He liked the girls, liked to hold them around the waist, felt like a man when he did. But as for talking with them, no, no! Then he felt as though he were dealing with another species of human being, in some cases a higher one, in others a lower. He secretly admired the weak, pale, little girl and had picked her to be his wife. That was still the only way he could think of a woman - as a wife. He danced in a very chaste and proper manner, but he heard awful stories about his pals, stories he didn't understand until later. They could dance the waltz backwards around the room in a very indecent way, and they told naughty stories about the girls.

MOTHER. Is he mad, or a rascal? LADY. He's neither. He's no ordinary man; and it's a pity I can tell him nothing he doesn't know already. That's why we don't speak much; but he's glad to have me near him; and so am I to be near him.

I once asked a little boy why the sea was salt, and the boy, whose father was away on a long journey, said right away, "The sea is salt because the sailors cry so much." "But why do the sailors cry so much?" I asked. "Because," he said, "they always have to go away from home- and that's why they're always drying their handkerchiefs up on the masthead!" And then I asked him, "But why do people cry when they're sad?" And he said, "That's because they have to wash the glasses of their eyes so they can see better.

Because the child bound us together; but the link became a chain.

Must I be humbled in order to be lifted up, made low in order to be raised high?

tell me this: how was it you came to love me? LADY. I don't know; but I'll try to remember. (Pause.) Well, you had the masculine courage to be rude to a lady. In me you sought the companionship of a human being and not merely of a woman. That honoured me; and, I thought, you too.

But unfortunately, I am a man, and there is nothing for me to do but, like a Roman, fold my arms across my breast and hold my breath till I die. DOCTOR.

Ştiţi cum se văd cei înstăriţi priviţi de jos? Nu, nu ştiţi! Ca ulii şi ca şoimii, a căror spate nu-l zărim decât rareori, fiindcă ei zboară aproape tot timpul acolo sus!

On a flimsy framework of reality, imagination spins, weaving new patterns.

La oss derfor lide uten håp om en eneste varig glede i dette livet siden vi, mine brødre, allerede er i helvete.

people who keep dogs . . . are cowards who haven’t got the guts to bite people themselves. August Strindberg

Aldous Huxley, Goethe, D.H. Lawrence, August Strindberg ve Jack London gibi ünlüler Beden Dışı Deneyim yaşadıklarını bildirmişlerdir.

theology, the doctrine of God, which is always attacked and ridiculed by philosophy, which claims to be wisdom itself. And medicine, which always questions the validity of philosophy, and doesn’t consider theology a science but a superstition…

As one takes leave of a friend, a place, How the loss of all one has loved rises up, And regret for what one has destroyed… Ah, now I know all the agony of living, So this is what it means to be mortal— — — One misses even what one has not valued, One regrets even misdeeds never done… One yearns to go, and yet one longs to stay… So the heart’s two halves are rent asunder, As if wild horses were pulling it apart, torn to pieces By contradiction, indecision, disharmony… —

Here come the guests. Keep calm, now, and we'll go on playing our old roles.

Não, eu prefiro o silêncio, no silêncio ouvem-se os pensamentos e vê-se o passado, o silêncio não pode esconder... o que as palavras escondem.

KURT. Then he does love you! ALICE. Probably. But that doesn’t stop him from hating me. KURT

—He really is the most arrogant person I’ve ever come across. ‘I am, therefore God exists’. ALICE

Ah woe is me, how sad a thing Is life within this vale of tears, Death’s angel triumphs like a king, And calls aloud to all the spheres— Vanity, all is vanity. Yes,

All that on earth hath life and breath To earth must fall before his spear, And sorrow, saved alone from death, Inscribes above the mighty bier. Vanity, all is vanity. Yes,

Do you suppose that he would have spoken if he had been alive? And do you suppose that if any of the dead husbands came back they would be believed?

It appears from these letters that for some time past you have been arraying my old friends against me by spreading reports about my mental condition.

Now you have fulfilled your function as an unfortunately necessary father and breadwinner, you are not needed any longer and you must go.

My daughter became my enemy when she had to choose between me and you. And you, my wife, you have been my archenemy, because you never let up on me till I lay here lifeless. LAURA.

My child? A man has no children, it is only woman who has children, and therefore the future is hers when we die childless.

This house is full of women who all want to have their say about my child.

If a flower you covet, straightway you are told it is another's.

is this carnival, or ... reality?

Both life and nature are black.

Poor souls. I feel so sorry for them.

И зимата отмина, бавно за нещастните, по-бързо за по-малко нещастните. И дойде пролетта с напразните надежди за слънце и зеленина, докато настъпи лятото като кратка подготовка за есента.

—¿Qué es el amor? —preguntó Adèle mientras miraba la luna como si buscara la respuesta en el cielo. —Es la simpatía de las almas —susurró el abogado con una voz que parecía proceder del viento.

He neither acquits nor condemns, but merely relates, and, just as a dream is more often painful than happy, so a tone of melancholy and pity for all mortal beings runs through this uncertain tale.

In the midst of happiness grows a seed of unhappiness. Happiness consumes itself like a flame. It cannot burn for ever, it must go out, and the presentiment of its end destroys it at its very peak.

THE VOICE: The best I cannot call it, nor the worst. Its name is Dust; and like them all, it rolls: And therefore dizzy sometimes grows the race, And seems to be half foolish and half mad— Take courage, child—a trial, that is all!

Det är vinter igen; himlen är grå och ljuset kommer nerifrån, från markens vita snö. Ensamheten står bra i ton med naturens skendöd, men ibland blir det för tungt. Jag längtar efter människor, men jag har i ensamheten blivit så ömtålig som om min själ vore hudlös, och jag är så bortskämd med att få styra mina tankar och känslor att jag knappt kan uthärda beröringen med en annan person; ja varje främmande som nalkas mig verkar kvävande genom sin andliga atmosfär vilken liksom tränger in på min.

Arvid reste sig för att gå. —Nej, sitt! –sitt!, sitt!—. Om någon hund varit närvarande, skulle han genast suttit.” // “Arvid se levantó para irse. —¡No, siéntate! –¡siéntate!, ¡siéntate!—. Si hubiera habido algún perro presente, éste se hubiera sentado de inmediato”.

Han tände en cigarr och ställde sig att betrakta porträttet. Den som observerat hans ansikte nu, skulle icke kunna se hans tankar, ty han hade redan lärt sig så mycket om livets konst att han icke en gång anförtrodde ensamheten sina meningar, ja, han fruktade till och med att meddela sig med sig själv.

THE DAUGHTER: You named the earth—is that the ponderous world And dark, that from the moon must take its light? THE VOICE: It is the heaviest and densest sphere. Of all that travel through the space. THE DAUGHTER: And is it never brightened by the sun? THE VOICE: Of course, the sun does reach it—now and then—

Every trace of illusion was gone—it was nothing but smears of paint, and I quaked at the thought of having believed, and having made others believe, that a painted canvas could be anything but a painted canvas. The veil had fallen from my eyes, and it was just as impossible for me to paint any more as it was to become a child again.

Budući da ništa nisu odgovarali,kapnuo sam na mikroskop kap kiseline. Mrtva se materija nadula, nemirno se pokretala amo-tamo, počela je i živeti, ispuštala vonj truleži, ponovo se umirila i umrla. Bez sumnje, mogu probuditi mrtve, ali neću to ponoviti još jednom, jer mrtvi imaju neugodan zadah poput bludnika nakon probančene noći. Zar ne spavaju čvrsto tu dole čekajući uskrsnuće?

CAPTAIN. Yes, I’m crying, even though I am a man. But has not a man eyes? Has not a man hands, organs, senses, affections, passions? Does he not live by the same food, is he not hurt with the same weapons, is he not warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a woman is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? Why should a man not complain, a soldier weep?* Because it’s unmanly! Why is it unmanly? LAURA

En el gnosticismo y el neoplatonismo la noción sobre la evolución material de los elementos hacia formas superiores se combinaba con el esfuerzo de purificar el alma; la transmutación se convirtió en un equivalente simbólico de la autoperfección y purificación del alma. El énfasis se puede poner en la química o en la concepción de la vida, pero no hay duda de que a quien reproduce la tradición y trabaja con la Grand Œuvre (Gran Obra) para obtener la piedra filosofal se le puede llamar alquimista.

Jag återvänder till mitt yttrande att vi sakna nationalitet. Kan någon säga mig något svenskt i Sverige annat än våra tallar, granar och järngruvor, vilka snart icke behövas mer i marknaden! Vad äro våra folkvisor? Franska, engelska och tyska romanser, i dålig översättning! [...] Säg mig något svenskt skaldestycke, konstverk, musikstycke, som är specifikt svenskt, varigenom det skiljer sig från alla icke-svenska! Visa mig en svensk byggnad! Det finns icke, och finns det så är det antingen dåligt eller är det bildat efter utländskt mönster.

Затова се ограничих до една-единствена обстановка на сцената - и за да постигна сливането на персонажите с обкръжението им, и за да сложа край на лукса при декорите. Щом обаче е налице една обстановка, тя трябва да е съвсем достоверна. Ала няма нищо по-трудно от това, една стая на сцената да прилича на истинска стая, независимо колко е сръчен художникът на театъра в изрисуването на вулкани, бълващи лава, и на водопади. Дори да се налага стенните ѝ да бъдат платнени, крайно време е по тях вече да не се изографисват кухненски рафтове и посуда. Има толкова други условности на сцената, в които се изисква да повярваме, че може поне да ни се спести усилието да вярваме на изтипосани тенджери. из предговора към "Госпожица Юлия

Schoolmaster: Now, my boy, can you tell me how much two times two is? ... Officer: Two... times two... Let me see! That makes two two! Schoolmaster: Well, well... somebody hasn't done his homework! Officer: (ashamed) Yes, I have, but... I know what it is, but I can't say it... Schoolmaster: You're trying to get out of it! You know, but you can't say. Perhaps I can help you! (He pulls the Officer's hair) Officer: Oh, this is dreadful, really dreadful! Schoolmaster: Yes, dreadful, that's precisely what it is when a big boy like you has no ambition. Officer: Yes, that's right, one must mature... Two times two... is two, and I can prove it by analogy, the highest form of proof. Listen, now! ... One times one is one, so two times two must be two! For what applies to one must apply the other! Schoolmaster: This proof accords perfectly with the laws of logic, but the answer is wrong.

Strange "circulus vitiosus," which I already foresaw in my twentieth year, when I wrote my drama Meister Olaf, and which has constituted the tragedy of my life. Why be tormented during thirty years in order to be taught by experience what one had already foreboded? When young I was sincerely pious, and you have made me a freethinker. Out of the freethinker you have made an atheist, and out of the atheist a religious man. Inspired by humanitarian ideas, I have been a herald of socialism. Five years later, you have shown me the absurdity of socialism; you have made all my prophecies futile. And supposing I become again religious, I am sure that, in another ten years, you will reduce religion to an absurdity. Ah! what a game the gods play with us poor mortals! And therefore, in the most tormented moments of life, we too can laugh with self-conscious raillery. How is it that you wish us to take earnestly what is nothing but a huge bad joke? For whom was Christ the Saviour? Consider the most Christian of all Christians, our pious Scandinavians, these amæmic, wretched, timid creatures, who look as though they were possessed. They seem to carry an evil spirit in their hearts, and observe how most of their leaders have ended in prison as criminals. Why has their master delivered them over to the enemy? Is religion a punishment, and Christ an Avenger?

If you humble yourself before men, you will arouse their pride, for all will think themselves, no matter how guilty they may be, better than you. Well, then, is one to humble oneself before God? But is it not disgraceful to degrade the Highest by conceiving of Him as the overseer of a slave plantation? Shall we pray? What! Presume to try to alter the will and decision of the Eternal by flattery and crawling? I look for God and find the Devil! That is my destiny! I have repented and reformed myself. I renounce alcohol, and come about nine o'clock soberly home to drink milk. The room is filled with all kinds of demons, who drag me out of bed and try to stifle me under the blankets. But if I come home at midnight intoxicated, I sleep like an angel and wake up strong as a young god, and ready to work like a galley-slave. I live a chaste life, and am troubled by unwholesome dreams. I accustom myself to think only good of my friends, entrust my secrets and my money to them, and am betrayed. If I show offence at such treachery, it is always I who am punished.

It is then no acoustic hallucination from which I suffer; everywhere there are plots, I say to myself. But one day, as I go by chance into a shoemaker's shop, the noise instantaneously breaks out. It is no plot, then! It is the Devil himself! Hunted from hotel to hotel, pursued everywhere by electric wires even to my bed, attacked everywhere by electric currents which lift me from my chair, or out of bed, I deliberately set about planning my suicide. The weather is terrible, and in my depression I seek distraction in drinking bouts with friends.

People who keep dogs are cowards who haven't got the guts to bite people themselves.

Who gives me the strength to suffer? Who denies me the power, and delivers me over to torments? Is it He, the Lord of life and death, Whose wrath I have provoked, when, influenced by the pamphlet The Joy of Dying, I tried to die, and considered myself already ripe for eternal life? Am I Phlegyas doomed to the pains of Tartarus for his pride, or Prometheus, who, because he revealed the secret of the powers to mortals, was torn by the vulture? (While I am writing this, I think of the scene in the sufferings of Christ when the soldiers spit in His face, some buffet Him and others strike Him with rods and say to Him, "Tell us, who is he that smote thee?" Perhaps my old companions in Stockholm remember that orgy when the author of this book played the rôle of the soldier?) Who has struck thee? A question without an answer. Doubt, uncertainty, mystery—there is my hell! Oh that my enemy would reveal himself, that I might do battle with him, and defy him! But that is just what he avoids doing, in order to afflict me with madness and make me feel the scourge of conscience, which causes me to suspect enemies everywhere, enemies, i.e., those injured by my evil will. Indeed, my conscience smites me every time that I come on the track of a new foe.

Men så uppdök minnet om gamla fäderneförmaningar och råd, och då framkom den gamla lögnen, att allt arbete är lika aktningsvärt och förehöll honom hans högmod, och så tog han sitt förnuft till fånga och gick hem för att skriva 48 verktum Ulrika Eleonora.

Falk kunde som vanligt, och vilket var hans olycka, icke förrän efteråt finna passande svar på tal […]

Återstod problemet att skaffa en ny redaktör. Enligt bolagets nya program skulle han äga följande kvalifikationer: han skulle först åtnjuta odelat förtroende som medborgare, tillhöra ämbetsmannakåren, äga en titel, usurperad eller förvärvad, som vid behov kunde påbättras; han skulle dessutom äga ett respektabelt utseende, så att han kunde visas vid fester och andra offentliga nöjen; han skulle vara osjälvständig, liten smula dum, emedan bolaget visste att den sanna dumheten alltid åtföljes av konservatism i tänkesätt och därjämte av en viss grad bakslughet, som känner förmäns önskningar i luften och som aldrig glömmer, att allmänt väl är enskilt, rätteligen förstått nämligen; han skulle tillika vara halvgammal, emedan man lättare skulle kunna styra honom, och gift, emedan bolaget, som bestod av affärsmän, sett att gifta drängar uppför sig bättre än ogifta.

- Ni kanske inte läsa de böcker ni recensera? - Vem tror du har tid att läsa böcker? Är det inte nog att man skriver om dem! Man läser tidningarna och det är tillräckligt! För övrigt ha vi för princip att rappa alla! - Ja, men det är ju en dum princip. - Nix! Därigenom får man alla författares ovänner och avundsmän med sig - och då har man ju majoritet. De neutrala läsa hellre ovett om andra än de läsa beröm! Det ligger något uppbyggligt och trösterikt för den obemärkte att se hur törnig berömmelsens väg är! Inte sant?

Att vara konservativ på spekulation är den största synd en människa kan begå. Det är ett attentat mot världsplanen för tre skilling, ty den konservative söker hindra utvecklingen; han sätter ryggen mot den rullande jorden och säger: stå still! Det finnes blott en ursäkt: dumhet; dåliga affärer är ingen ursäkt, men väl ett motiv!

Sedan du sålunda fått ditt erkännande av utlänningen, så har du fått ditt namn här hemma naturligtvis och jag slipper gå längre och skämmas för dig.

Jag vet mycket litet i kvinnofrågan, ty den rör mig icke, men jag tror, efter vad jag sett, att vår generation kommer avskaffa det asiatiska, som ännu finnes i äktenskapet. Båda parterna avsluta ett fritt fördrag, ingen uppger sin självständighet, den ena söker icke uppfostra den andra, man lär sig respektera varandras svagheter och man har ett kamratskap för livet, som icke tröttar genom den ena partens pockande på ömhet. Fru Nicolaus Falk, du vet, den där välgörande djäveln, den anser jag vara ingenting annat än en femme entretenue, och så betraktar hon ju sig själv också; de flesta fruar gifta sig för att få det bra och slippa arbeta, att bli "sin egen"; att där ingås så få äktenskap, det är kvinnans fel, och mannens!

Allt kan ske, allt är möjligt och sannolikt. Tid och rum existera icke; på en obetydlig verklighetsgrund spinner inbillningen ut och väver nya mönster: en blandning av minnen, upplevelser, fria påhitt, orimligheter och improvisationer.

Genom att försöka göra det omöjliga når man högsta graden av det möjliga.

Hell? But I have been brought up in the profoundest contempt of the doctrine of hell, as one consigned to the rubbish-heap of out-worn ideas. And yet I cannot deny the fact—and that is the novelty in this exposition of the doctrine of so-called eternal punishment—we are already in hell. Earth, earth is hell? the dungeon appointed by a superior power, in which I cannot move a step without injuring the happiness of others, and in which others cannot remain happy without hurting me. Thus Swedenborg depicts hell, and perhaps without knowing it, earthly life, at the same time.

Do you hate men, Miss Julie? Yes. - Most of the time.

Someone to thank! There is no one there, and my involuntary ingratitude depresses me. Feeling jealous about my discovery, I take no steps to make it known. In my modesty I turn neither to authorities nor to universities. While I continue my experiments, the cracked skin of my hands becomes worse, the fissures gape and become full of coal-dust; blood oozes out, and the pains become so intolerable that I can undertake nothing more. I am inclined to attribute these pains which drive me wild to the unknown powers which have persecuted me for years, and frustrate my endeavours. I avoid people, neglect society, refuse invitations, and make myself inaccessible to friends. I am surrounded by silence and loneliness. It is the solemn and terrible silence of the desert in which I defiantly challenge the unknown, in order to wrestle with him, body with body, and soul with soul. I have proved that sulphur contains carbon; now I intend to discover hydrogen and oxygen in it, for they must be also present. But my apparatus is insufficient, I need money, my hands are black and bleeding, black as misery, bleeding as my heart. For, during this time, I continue to correspond with my wife. I tell her of my successes in chemical experiments; she answers with news about the illness of our child, and here and there drops hints that my science is futile, and that it is foolish to waste money on it.

In the evening I roam about the gloomy Quarter, and cross the St. Martin's canal. It is as dark as the grave, and seems exactly made to drown oneself in. I remain standing at the corner of Rue Alibert. Why Alibert? Who is he? Was not the graphite which the chemist found in my sulphur called Alibert-graphite? Well, what of it? Strangely enough, an impression of something not yet explained remains in my mind. Then I enter Rue Dieu. Why "Dieu," when the Republic has washed its hands of God? Then Rue Beaurepaire—a fine resort of criminals. Rue de Vaudry—is the Devil conducting me? I take no more notice of the names of the streets, wander on, turn round, find I have lost my way, and recoil from a shed which exhales an odour of raw flesh and bad vegetables, especially sauerkraut. Suspicious-looking figures brush past me, muttering objurgations. I become nervous, turn to the right, then to the left, and get into a dark blind alley, the haunt of filth and crime. Street girls bar my way, street boys grin at me. The scene of Christmas night is repeated, "_Væ soli!_."[2] Who is it that plays me these treacherous tricks as soon as I seek for solitude? Someone has brought me into this plight. Where is he? I wish to fight with him!

Štai pagaliau kas yra vienatvė: susisuki į savo sielos kokoną, pavirsti lėlyte ir lauki metamorfozės, nes ši tikrai ateis.