I am the one listening to the whistling in the dark. I who am sick with the human condition. — Clarice Lispector, Água Viva/The Stream of Life. Translated by Elizabeth Lowe. (University of Minnesota Press; 1st edition June 28, 1989) Originally published 1973.
That is why I write – to try to turn sadness into longing, solitude into remembrance. ― Paulo Coelho, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept. (Harper Perennial; Tra edition May 23, 2006) Originally published 1994.
Every abyss is navigable by little paper boats. — João Guimarães Rosa, Tutaméia (Terceiras Estórias) Nova Fronteira; 8 edition (2009). Originally published January 1st 1976.
What faded wasn’t poetry. – Carlos Drummond de Andrade, from “In Search of Poetry,” Multitudinous Heart: Selected Poems. Translated by Richard Zenith. (Farrar, Straus and Giroux; Bilingual ed. edition June 23, 2015)
I want to write a poem as simple as a glass of water or as a piece of bread abandoned on the table by a child A poem transparent like a window light like a winged ingot of lead and yet heavy like butterflies among city lorries A poem wrought… Continue reading Stefan Baciu
Haven’t you learned anything, not even with the approach of death? Stop thinking all the time that you’re in the way, that you’re bothering the person next to you. If people don’t like it, they can complain. And if they don’t have the courage to complain, that’s their problem. ― Paulo Coelho, Veronika Decides to… Continue reading Paulo Coelho
I have grown weary of literature: silence alone comforts me. If I continue to write, it’s because I have nothing more to accomplish in this world except to wait for death. Searching for the word in darkness. — Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the Star. (New Directions; Reissue edition February 17, 1992) Originally published 1977.