Ricordo bene il suo sguardo.Attraversa ancora la mia animaCome una scia di fuoco nella notte.
Perhaps it's my destiny to remain a bookkeeper forever, and for poetry and literature to remain simply butterflies that alight on my head and underline my own ridiculousness by their very beauty. In t...
Perhaps it's my destiny to remain a book-keeper for ever and for poetry and literature to remain simply butterflies that alight on my head and merely underline my own ridiculousness by their very beau...
O resto é a vida que nos deixa, a chama que morre no nosso olhar, a púrpura gasta antes de a vestirmos, a lua que vela o nosso abandono, as estrelas que estendem o seu silêncio sobre a nossa hora de d...
Let us not be deceived by hope, because it betrays, or by love, because it grows weary, or by life, because it satiates but does not sate, or even by death, because it brings more than you want and le...
I’m certain, but my certainty is a lie. To be certain is to not be seeing. The day after tomorrow doesn’t exist. This is what exists: A blue sky that’s a bit hazy and some white clouds on the horizon,...
I asked for very little from life, and even this little was denied me. A nearby field, a ray of sunlight, a little bit of calm along with a bit of bread, not to feel oppressed by the knowledge that I...
I am still obsessed with creating a false world, and will be until I die.
How confidently we believe in our interpretation of other people’s words.
Beside my pain, all other pains seem false or insignificant. They are the pains of happy people or of people who are alive enough to complain. Mine is the pain of someone imprisoned in life, cut off …
An anxiety for being me, forever trapped in myself, floods my whole being without finding a way out, shaping me into tenderness, fear, sorrow and desolation.An inexplicable surfeit of absurd grief, a...
All that I've done, thought or been is a series of submissions, either to a false self that I assumed belonged to me because I expressed myself through it to the outside, or to a weight of circumstanc...
Ah, it's my longing for whom I might have been that distracts and torments me!
I'll be living quietly in a house somewhere in the suburbs, enjoying a peaceful existence not writing the book I'm not writing now and, so as to continue not doing so, I will come up with different ex...
Great mysteries inhabit the threshold of my being.
Triste de quem é feliz !Vive porque a vida dura.Nada na alma lhe dizMais que a lição da raizTer por vida a sepultura.
Revolution? Change? What I really want, with all my heart, is for the atonic clouds to stop greyly lathering the sky. What I want is to see the blue emerge, a truth that is clear and sure because it i...
One needs a certain intellectual courage to recognize unflinchingly that one is no more than a scrap of humanity, a living abortion, a madman not yet crazy enough to be locked up; but, having recogniz...
O que é preciso é ser-se natural e calmo Na felicidade ou na infelicidade, Sentir como quem olha, Pensar como quem anda, E quando se vai morrer, lembrar-se de que o dia morre, E que o poente é belo e...
No other writer ever achieved such a direct transference of self to paper. The Book of Disquiet is the world’s strangest photograph, made out of words, the only material capable of capturing the reces...