Brazilian Culture · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fiction · Passage · Poetry · Portuguese Literature · Quote

Clarice Lispector

I see that I’ve never told you how I listen to music—I gently rest my hand on the record player and my hand vibrates, sending waves through my whole body: and so I listen to the electricity of the vibrations, the last substratum of reality’s realm, and the world trembles inside my hands. Clarice Lispector,… Continue reading Clarice Lispector

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Brazilian Culture · Classic · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fiction · Novel · Passage · Portuguese Literature · Writing

Clarice Lispector

In order to write I must place myself into the void. In this void is where I exist intuitively. But it’s a terribly dangerous void: it’s where I wring out blood. I’m a writer who fears the snares of words: the words I say hide others—which? maybe I’ll say them. Writing is a stone cast… Continue reading Clarice Lispector

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Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Excerpt · Passage · Poetry · Portuguese Culture · Portuguese Literature · Pseudonym

Fernando Pessoa

Everything’s like that, more or less. The heart moves in jolts. Living means not meeting up with yourself. At the end of it all, if I’m tired, I’ll sleep. But I’d like to meet you and for us to speak. I’m sure we’d get along well, you and I. But if we don’t meet, I’ll… Continue reading Fernando Pessoa

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Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Fiction · Passage · Philosophy · Poetry · Portuguese Culture · Portuguese Literature

Fernando Pessoa

We are born without knowing how to talk and we die without having known how to express ourselves. Our life runs its course between the silence of one who cannot speak and the silence of one who wasn’t understood, and around it hovers — like a bee where there are no flowers — a useless,… Continue reading Fernando Pessoa

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Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Fiction · Passage · Philosophy · Poetry · Portuguese Culture · Portuguese Literature

Fernando Pessoa

I look at my past life as at a field lit up by the sun when it breaks through the clouds, and I note with metaphysical astonishment how my most deliberate acts, my clearest ideas, and my most logical intentions were after all no more than congenital drunkenness, inherent madness, and huge ignorance. I didn’t… Continue reading Fernando Pessoa

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