He was constitutionally condemned to suffer all kinds of anxieties, but fated to abandon them all. I never met a more extraordinary man. He had abdicated everything to which he was by nature destined,...
Everything that surrounds us becomes part of us, it seeps into us with every experience of the flesh and of life and, like the web of a great Spider, binds us subtly to what is near, ensnares us in a...
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...
I am nothing.I'll never be anything.I couldn't want to be something.Apart from that, I have in me all the dreams in the world.
Chove. Que fiz eu da vida?Fiz o que ela fez de mim...
من سيقرأ أشعاري؟صوب أية أَيْد ستتجه؟زهرة أنا قطفوني من أجل متعة الأعينشجرة نزعوا ثمارها للأفواهنهر أنا و قَدَرُ مياهي أن تفارقني،مقهور، و مع ذلك، تقريباً، مسروركَمَنْ أضجرتهُ ديمومة حزنه.
É talvez o último dia da minha vida. Saudei o sol, levantando a mão direita, Mas não o saudei, dizendo-lhe adeus, Fiz sinal de gostar de o ver antes: mais nada.
We generally colour our ideas of the unknown with our notions of the known.
The fundamental error of Romanticism is to confuse what we need with what we desire. We all need certain basic things for life’s preservation and continuance; we all desire a more perfect life, comple...
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...
Não me importo com as rimas. Raras vezes Há duas árvores iguais, uma ao lado da outra.
May I at least carry, to the boundless possibility contained in the abyss of everything, the glory of my disillusion like that of a great dream, and the splendor of not believing like a banner of defe...
Leave in a complex state of slumberYour consciousness of science.Look At your white face in the wine’s red mirrorAnd then drink the mirror ...and your consciousness
I’ve never aspired to be more than a dreamer. I paid no attention to those who spoke to me of living. I’ve always belonged to what isn’t where I am and to what I could never be. Whatever isn’t mine, n...
I am still obsessed with creating a false world, and will be until I die.
Há um cansaço da inteligência abstracta, e é o mais horroroso dos cansaços. Não pesa como o cansaço do corpo, nem inquieta como o cansaço do conhecimento pela emoção. É um peso da consciência do mundo...
How is it done? By not doing. By dreaming insistently. By performing our daily duties but living, simultaneously, in the imagination. Travelling far and wide, in the geography of our minds. Conquering...
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 …
Great mysteries inhabit the threshold of my being.