I don't know what I feel or what I want to feel. I don't know what to think or what I am.
Being a retired major looks like an ideal thing to me. What a pity you couldn't eternally have been just a retired major.
I know not what tomorrow will bring.
Nature is the difference between the soul and God.
Multipliquei-me para me sentir.
I believe that saying a thing is to keep its virtues and take away its terror.
We all have two lives: The true, the one we dreamed of in childhood And go on dreaming of as adults in a substratum of mist; the false, the one we love when we live with others, the practical, the useful, the one we end up by being put in a coffin.
Whether or not they exist we are slaves to our gods.
I've never done anything but dream. This, and this alone, has been the meaning of my life. My only real concern has been my inner life.
Once we're able to see this world as an illusion and a phantasm, then we can see everything that happens to us as a dream, as something that pretended to exist while we were sleeping. And we will become subtly and profoundly indifferent towards all of life's setbacks and calamities. Those who die turned a corner, which is why we've stopped seeing them; those who suffer pass before us like a nightmare, if we feel, or like an unpleasant daydream, if we think. And even our own suffering won't be more than this nothingness.
Art lies because it's social.
The startling reality of things is my discovery every single day.
Who am I to myself? Just a feeling of mine.
I will be what I want. But I will have to want what I'll be. Success is in having success, not conditions for success.
I'd like to be in the country so that I'd could like being in the city.
Strength without agility is a mere mass.
Every spoken word double-crosses us. The written word is the only tolerable form of communication, as it isn't a stone in a bridge between souls but a ray of light between stars.
I never meant to be but a dreamer.
I don't mourn the loss of my childhood; I mourn because everything, including (my) childhood, is lost.
Today I suddenly experienced an absurd but quite valid sensation. I realized, in an intimate lightning flash, that I am no one. No one, absolutely no one.
My homeland is the portuguese language.
In the very corner of my soul there is an altar to a different god.
One or another man, liberated or cursed, suddenly sees-but even this man sees rarely-that all we are is what we aren't, that we fool ourselves about what's true and are wrong about what we conclude is right. And this man, who in a flash sees the universe naked, creates a philosophy or dreams up a religion; and the philosophy spreads and the religion propagates, and those who believe in the philosophy begin to wear it as a suit they don't see, and those who believe in the religion put it on as a mask they soon forget.
In the ordinary jumble of my literary drawer, I sometimes find texts I wrote ten, fifteen, or even more years ago. And many of them seem to me written by a stranger: I simply do not recognize myself in them. There was a person who wrote them, and it was I. I experienced them, but it was in another life, from which I just woke up, as if from someone else's dream.
Decadence is the total loss of unconsciousness, which is the very basis of life. Could it think, the heart would stop beating.
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