Ağaçlar Quotes

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”
― Herman Hesse, Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte

“When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. . . . Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.”
― Hermann Hesse, Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte

“Voll Blüten steht der Pfirsichbaum
nicht jede wächst zur Frucht
sie schimmern hell wie Rosenschaum
durch Blau und Wolkenflucht.

Wie Blüten geh'n Gedanken auf
hundert an jedem Tag --
lass' blühen, lass' dem Ding den Lauf
frag' nicht nach dem Ertrag!

Es muss auch Spiel und Unschuld sein
und Blütenüberfluss
sonst wär' die Welt uns viel zu klein
und Leben kein Genuss.”
― Hermann Hesse, Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte

“Oh oak tree, how they have pruned you.
Now you stand odd and strangely shaped!
You were hacked a hundred times
until you had nothing left but spite and will!

I am like you, so many insults and humiliations
could not shatter my link with life.
And every day I raise my head
beyond countless insults towards new light.
What in me was once gentle, sweet and tender
this world has ridiculed to death.
But my true self cannot be murdered.
I am at peace and reconciled.
I grow new leaves with patience
from branches hacked a hundred times.
In spite of all the pain and sorrow
I'm still in love with this mad, mad world.”
― Hermann Hesse, Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte

“So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”
― Hermann Hesse , Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured.”
― Hermann Hesse, Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte

“Der Wanderer hat das Beste und das Zarteste von allen Genüssen, weil er neben dem Schmecken auch noch das Wissen von der Flüchtigkeit aller Freude hat.”
― Hermann Hesse, Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte

“Her gün yanımızdan geçip gidiyor dünyanın bereketi; her gün açıyor çiçekler, parlıyor ışık, gülüyor sevinç. Zaten sevincin en güzel tarafı tesadüfi ve bedava olmasıdır; özgürdür sevinç ve Tanrı’nın armağanıdır herkese, ıhlamur çiçeğinin esip gelen kokusu gibi...”
― Hermann Hesse, Ağaçlar

“Güzelliğin ve ölümün, hazzın ve faniliğin birbirine bu kadar muhtaç, bu kadar bağlı olması ne harika!”
― Hermann Hesse, Ağaçlar

“..başka zamanlarda hayranlık duyabildiğim akılla ilgili bir şey bilmek istemiyorum, ben fani olmak, çocuk olmak, çiçek olmak istiyorum.”
― Hermann Hesse, Ağaçlar

“Bir süre yaşadığımız her yer, ancak orayla vedalaştıktan epey sonra belleğimizde biçim kazanır ve hiç değişmeyen bir imgeye dönüşür. Orada bulunduğumuz ve her şey gözümüzün önünde olduğu sürece, tesadüfi ya da kalıcı şeylere hemen hemen aynı önemi atfederiz, gereksiz ayrıntılar ancak çok sonra silinir gider. Belleğimizde sadece hatırlamaya değer olanlar kalır; öyle olmasaydı, hayatımızın tek bir yılına bile korkmadan, gözümüz kararmadan bakamazdık!”
― Hermann Hesse, Ağaçlar

“Tuhaftır siste dolaşmak!
Yaşamak yalnız olmaktır,
Hiç kimse bilmez diğerini,
Yalnızdır her biri.”
― Hermann Hesse, Ağaçlar

“Elveda sevgili şeftali ağacım! Hiç değilse, seninki düzgün, doğal ve onurlu bir ölüm, ki bu yüzden şanslı addediyorum seni..savaş uçaklarından atılan bombalarla parçalanmadın, şeytani asitlerle yakılmadın, milyonlarca insan gibi sürülmedin yurdundan, kanlı köklerinle üstünkörü dikildiğin yerden bir kez daha koparılıp yurtsuz bırakılmadın, çöküşü ve yıkımı, savaşı ve etrafındaki rezaleti yaşamak ve sefilce ölüp gitmek zorunda kalmadın. Bizden daha iyi, daha güzel yaşlandın ve ömrümüzün sonunda yozlaşmış bir dünyanın zehri ve sefaletiyle boğuşan, etrafımızı kemiren ahlaksızlığa rağmen bir nebze temiz hava solumak için mücadele eden bizlerden daha onurlu öldün.”
― Hermann Hesse, Ağaçlar

“Ihlamurlar sahiden de çiçek açıyor yine; akşamları, hava kararmaya başlayınca ve çetin işler tamamlanınca, kadınlar ve kızlar gelir, merdivenle dallara tırmanıp küçük birer sepet dolusu ıhlamur toplarlar. Daha sonra, birisi hastalanıp rahatsızlandığında, bununla şifalı çay yaparlar. Haklılar; bu harikulade mevsimin sıcağından, güneşinden, sevinci ve kokusundan neden faydalanılmasın? Çiçeklerde ya da başka şeylerde, uzanıp toplayacağımız, alıp eve götüreceğimiz, daha sonra, soğuk, kötü zamanlarda teselli bulacağımız bir şeyler neden geriye kalmasın?

Tüm güzelliklerden bir torba dolusu saklanabilse ve zor zamanlar için bir kenara koyulabilse keşke! Gerçi o zaman yapay kokulu yapay çiçekler olurlardı elbette. Her gün yanımızdan geçip gidiyor dünyanın bereketi; her gün açıyor çiçekler, parlıyor ışık, gülüyor sevinç. Bazen minnettarlıkla doyasıya içiyoruz bu bereketi, bazen de bıkıp hırçınlaşıyor, adını bile anmak istemiyoruz, oysa etrafımızda her daim bir dolu güzellik var. Zaten sevincin en güzel tarafı, tesadüfi ve bedava olmasıdır; özgürdür sevinç ve Tanrı’nın armağanıdır herkese, ıhlamur çiçeğinin esip gelen kokusu gibi.”
― Hermann Hesse, Ağaçlar

“Orası ya da şurası değildir yurdun. Yurt ya içindedir ya da hiçbir yerde.”
― Hermann Hesse, Ağaçlar