Some background info for you: Siddhartha was written in 1922 by a German guy; I just picked it up at the library last week and thought it might be interesting, although thinking, what would some German in the 1920s know about life as a Brahmin (upper upper caste) in India? And the answer is, I don't know, but the book was mildly interesting and made several valid points. The ending was a bit cliche, but it's about the journey and not the destination, eh?
A few vocab points for those who are unfamiliar: Samana is an aesthetic, usually someone who lives in the wilderness and does a lot of fasting and praying and lives off of alms. Sansara is hell/suffering. Nirvana is the state of total enlightenment, what Westerners might call heaven, and release from the circle of death and rebirth. I hope you enjoy them.
"It often seemed near at hand, this heavenly world, but never once had he succeeded in reaching it, in quenching that final thirst."
"'It seems to me that of all the Samanas that exist, there is perhaps not one, not a single one, who will reach Nirvana. We find consolations, we find numbness, we learn skills with which to deceive ourselves. But the essential, the Path of Paths, this we do not find.'"
"He observed people living ina childish or animal way that he simultaneously loved and depored. He saw their struggles, watched them suffer and turn gray over things that seemed to him utterly unworthy of such a price--things like money, petty pleasures, petty honours. He saw people scold and insult one another, saw them wailing over aches and pains that would just make a Samana smile, suffering on account of deprivations a Samana would not notice."
"'Remember my friend: The world of shapes is transitory, and transitory--highly transitory--are our clothes, the way we wear our hair, and our hair and bodies themselves....The transitory changes swiftly....'"
"'Do you really believe that you committed your own follies so as to spare your son from committing them? And will you be able to save your son from Sansara?... What father, what teacher, was able to protect him from living life himself, soiling himself with life, accumulating guilt, drinking the bitter drink, finding his own path? Do you think then, my friend, that this path might be spared anyone at all? Perhaps your little son, because you love him and would like to spare him sorrow and pain and disillusionment? But even if you died ten times for him, you would not succeed in relieving him of even the smallest fraction of his destiny.'"
"His wound had not yet blossomed; his heart was still struggling against fate; merriment and victory did not yet shine from his sorrow."
