Permanezcamos así eternamente, como la estampa de un hombre en un vitral frente a la de una mujer en otro vitral....Entre nosotros, sombras cuyos pasos suenan fríos, son de la humanidad que pasa....Mu...
Para realizar um sonho é preciso esquecê-lo, distrair dele a atenção. Por isso realizar é não realizar.
Os poetas místicos são filósofos doentes, E os filósofos são homens doidos.
O night in which the stars feign light, O night that alone is the size of the Universe, make me, body and soul, part of your body, so that—being mere darkness—I’ll lose myself and become night as well...
O meu misticismo é não querer saber. É viver e não pensar nisso.
I’m sure that all this, I mean other people’s attitudes towards me, lies principally in some obscure intrinsic flaw in my own temperament. Perhaps I communicate a coldness that unwittingly obliges oth...
I’m beginning to know myself. I don’t exist. I’m the space between what I’d like to be and what others made of me. Just let me be at ease and all by myself in my room.
I’m astounded whenever I finish something. Astounded and distressed. My perfectionist instinct should inhibit me from finishing; it should inhibit me from even beginning. But I get distracted and star...
I wander as I walk straight ahead. When it’s time, I show up at the office like everyone else. When it’s not time, I go to the river to gaze at the river, like everyone else. I’m no different. And beh...
I still remember—so vividly I can smell the gentle fragrance of the spring air—the afternoon when I decided, after thinking everything over, to abdicate from love as from an insoluble problem. it was...
I asked for so little from life and life denied me even that.
However, when you’re about to write something, knowing beforehand that it’s sure to be imperfect, a failure, that is the most spiritually tormenting and humiliating of feelings. I not only feel that t...
For me life is an inn where I must stay until the carriage from the abyss calls to collect me [...] I could consider this inn to be a prison, since I’m compelled to stay here; I could consider it a ki...
Escravos cardíacos das estrelas, Conquistámos todo o mundo antes de nos levantar da cama; Mas acordámos e ele é opaco, Levantámo-nos e ele é alheio,
Each us is more than one person, many people, a proliferation of our one self. That's why the same person who scorns his surroundings is different from the person who is gladdened or made to suffer by...
By day I am nothing, by night I am I.
At the end of this day there remains what remained yesterday and what will remain tomorrow: the insatiable, unquantifiable longing to be both the same and other.
Anything and everything, depending on how one sees it, is a marvel or a hindrance, an all or a nothing, a path or a problem. To see something in constantly new ways is to renew and multiply it. That i...
All effort is pointless, but it passes the time. Reasoning is sterile, but amusing. Loving is tedious, but possibly preferable to not loving.
All I ever asked of life was that it should pass me by without my even noticing it.