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Image of the quote is loading... SaveSave The facts that make the world real-- these depend on the unreal in order to be recognised by it. - Quote by Ingeborg Bachmann

The facts that make the world real– these depend on the unreal in order to be recognised by it.

Ingeborg Bachmann
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For the facts that make up the world need the non-factual as a vantage point from which to be perceived.
Ingeborg Bachmann
A single tear forms, just in the corner of one eye, but it doesn't roll down my cheek; it merely crystallizes in the cold air, it grows and grows into a second giant globe that doesn't want to orbit with the world—it breaks off from the planet and plunges into infinity.
Ingeborg Bachmann
...we take care not to touch each other in public, nor do we look into each other's eyes except furtively, because Ivan must first wash my eyes with his own, removing the images which landed on my retina before his arrival.
Ingeborg Bachmann
My favorite, how did you put it now? Landscapes, animals, plants? Favorite what? Books, music, architecture, painting? I don't have any favorite animals, no favorite mosquitoes, favorite beetles, favorite worms, even with the best will in the world I cannot tell you which birds or fish or predators I prefer, it would also be difficult for me to have to choose much more generally.
Ingeborg Bachmann
With the aid of a minute correction - that of the dispersing lens - in a gold frame perched on her nose, Miranda can see into hell.
Ingeborg Bachmann
But Beatrix knew very well that there were no jobs, not even the most pitiful office routine - she wasn't even qualified for that - and that no one would allow her to sleep until late in the afternoon because these ill-advised people all around her let themselves be squeezed into schedules; that she would never work, least of all learn a trade, because she had no ambition whatsoever to earn a single shilling, become self-supporting and spend eight hours a day with people who smelled bad.
Ingeborg Bachmann
...the simple task of getting dressed and undressed was a real strain, but nothing could compare with her addiction to deep sleep...
Ingeborg Bachmann
As it was all was lost. He was alive, yes, he was alive, he felt this for the first time. But he knew now that he was living in a prison, that he had to make the best of it in there and would soon rage and would have to speak this thieves' cant, the only language at his disposal, in order not to be so abandoned.
Ingeborg Bachmann
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