Nasce o ideal da nossa consciência da imperfeição da vida. Tantos, portanto, serão os ideais possíveis, quantos forem os modos por que é possível ter a vida por imperfeita. A cada modo de a ter por im...
I’d like to run away, to flee from what I know, from what is mine, from what I love. I want to set off, not for some impossible Indies or for the great islands that lie far to the south of all other l...
I forget. I don't see. I don't think.
By day they’re full ofmeaningless activity; by night they’re full of ameaningless lack of it.By day I am nothing, and by nightI am I. There is no diference between me and these
Beyond the bend in the roadThere may be a well, and there may be a castle,And there may be just more road.I don’t know and don’t ask.As long as I’m on the road that’s before the bendI look only at the...
AutopsychographyThe poet is a man who feignsAnd feigns so thoroughly, at lastHe manages to feign as painThe pain he really feels,And those who read what once he wroteFeel clearly, in the pain they rea...
But if the Dream Kings were mine, what would I have to dream about? If I possessed the impossible landscapes, what would remain of the impossible?
In this metallic age of barbarians, only a relentless cultivation of our ability to dream, to analyse and to captivate can prevent our personality from degenerating into nothing or else into a persona...
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.
لطالما أثقل عليّ الإحساس بما أحس الآن، الإحساس فقط لمجرد الإحساس، بلا طمأنينة الوجود هنا، بالحنين إلى شيء آخر لم يعرف من قبل، بريح الأحاسيس كلها، باصفراري مظللاً، بكآبتي الرمادية داخل شعوري الخارجي بي
أغتاظ. أرغب في فهم كل شيء، معرفة كل شيء، إكمال كل شيء، قول كل شيء، التمتع بكل شيء، التألم من كل شيء، نعم، التألم من كل شيء. لكن لا شيء من هذا كله، لا شيء. أنهكتني فِكرة ما أرغب في الحصول عليه، ما استط...
What is there to confess that’s worthwhile or useful? What has happened to us has happened to everyone or only to us; if to everyone, then it’s no novelty, and if only to us, then it won’t be understo...
We know that the book we will never write will be bad. Even worse will be the one we put off writing. At least the book that has been written exists.
Todo o mal do mundo vem de nos importarmos uns com os outros, Quer para fazer bem, quer para fazer mal.
To live is to be other. It’s not even possible to feel, if one feels today what he felt yesterday. To feel today what one felt yesterday isn’t to feel – it’s to remember today what was felt yesterday,...
To have touched the feet of Christ is no excuse for mistakes in punctuation.If a man writes well only when he's drunk, then I'll tell him: Get drunk. And if he says that it's bad for his liver, I'll a...
The circumstances of his life were marked by that strange but rather common phenomenon – perhaps, in fact, it’s true for all lives – of being tailored to the image and likeness of his instincts, which...
Temos, todos que vivemos,Uma vida que é vividaE outra vida que é pensada,E a única vida que temos
Porque o único sentido oculto das cousas É elas não terem sentido oculto
Pessoa invented The Book of Disquiet, which never existed, strictly speaking, and can never exist. What we have here isn’t a book but its subversion and negation: the ingredients for a book whose reci...