I feel love for all this, perhaps because I have nothing else to love ... even though nothing truly merits the love of any soul, if, out of sentiment, we must give it, I might as well lavish it on the...
Trago dentro do meu coração,Como num cofre que se não pode fechar de cheio,Todos os lugares onde estive,Todos os portos a que cheguei,Todas as paisagens que vi através de janelas ou vigias,
To write is to forget. Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life. Music soothes, the visual arts exhilarates, the performing arts (such as acting and dance) entertain. Literature, however,...
My whole life has been a battle lost on the map. Cowardice didn't even make it to the battlefield, where perhaps it would have dissipated; it haunted the chief of staff in his office, all alone with h...
Let's develop theories patiently and honestly thinking them out, in order to promptly act against them - acting and justifying our actions with new theories that condemn them. Let's cut a path in life...
I’m curious about everyone, hungry for everything, greedy for all ideas. My awareness that not everything can be seen, not everything read and not everything thought torments me like the loss of ........
If this be to have sense, if to be awakeBe but to see this bright, great sleep of things,
Anonymous > Quotes > Quotable QuoteI see life as a roadside inn where I have to stay until the coach from the abyss pulls up. I don’t know where it will take me, because I don’t know anything. I could...
Amar é a eterna inocência, E a única inocência não pensar...
Were we as we should be, We wouldn’t need any illusions . . .
We worship perfection because we can't have it; if we had it, we would reject it. Perfection is inhuman, because humanity is imperfect.
To write is to forget. Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life. Music soothes, the visual arts exhilarate, and the performing arts (such as acting and dance) entertain. Literature, howev...
NEVOEIRONem rei nem lei, nem paz nem guerra,define com perfil e sereste fulgor baço da terraque é Portugal a entristecer –brilho sem luz e sem arder,como o que o fogo-fátuo encerra.Ninguém sabe que co...
I try to say what I feel Without thinking about what I feel. I try to place words right next to my idea So that I won’t need a corridor Of thought leading to words.
I find the present monotonous and absurd spectacle of the world outside me so completely lacking in value or nobility that I can scarcely conceive of it as being the world.
I believe in the world as in a daisy, Because I see it. But I don’t think about it, Because to think is to not understand. The world wasn’t made for us to think about it (To think is to have eyes that...
I am tired of myself in every way. All things, deep down to the secret of their roots, are stained by the color of my weariness.
And leaning on the windowsill to enjoy the day, gazing at the variegated mass of the whole city, just one thought fills my soul: that I profoundly wish to die, to cease, to see no more light shining o...
12.Se escrevo o que sinto é porque assim diminuo a febre de sentir. O que confesso não tem importância, pois nada tem importânciaPor: Bernado SoaresIn: Livro do Desassossego
The poet is a faker / Who's so good at his act / He even fakes the pain / Of pain he feels in fact.