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Fernando Pessoa

If, on thinking this, I look up to see if reality can quench my thirst, I see inexpressive facades, inexpressive faces, inexpressive gestures. Stones, bodies, ideas – all dead. All movements are one great standstill. Nothing means anything to me, not because it’s unfamiliar but because I don’t know what it is. The world has… Continue reading Fernando Pessoa

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

Fernando Pessoa

I’ve dreamed a lot. I’m tired now from dreaming but not tired of dreaming. No one tires of dreaming, because to dream is to forget, and forgetting does not weigh on us, it is a dreamless sleep throughout which we remain awake. In dreams I have achieved everything. — Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet.… Continue reading Fernando Pessoa

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