Fernando Pessoa Quotes
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His livid face is a bewildered false green. I notice it, between the chest's hard air, with the fraternity of knowing I will also be so.
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Para ser grande, sê inteiro: nadaTeu exagera ou exclui.Sê todo em cada coisa. Põe quanto ésNo mínimo que fazes.Assim em cada lago a lua todaBrilha, porque alta vive.
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I search and can't find myself. I belong in chrysanthemum time, sharp in calla lily elongations. God made my soul into an ornamental thing.
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Tedium is the lack of a mithology. To whom has no beliefs, even doubt is impossible, even skepticism has no strength to suspect.
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There's a tiredness of abstract intelligence, and it's the most horrible of tirednesses. It doesn't weight on you like the tiredness of the body, nor does it worry you like the tiredness of knowledge and emotion. It's a weightiness of the conscience of the world, an inability of the soul to breathe.
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The perfect man of pagans was the perfection of the man there is; the perfect man of christians, the perfection of the man there isn't; the buddhists' perfect man, the perfection of not existing a man.
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I'm upset by the happiness of all these men who don't know they're unhappy. ... Because of that, though, I love them all. Dear vegetables!
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In order to understand, I destroyed myself.
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My head and the universe ache me.
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My God, my God, who am I attending to? How many am I? Who is me? What is this interval between me and me?
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Man shouldn't be able to see his own face. That's what's most terrible. Nature gave him the possibility of not seeing it, as well as the incapacity of not seeing his own eyes.
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Nunca amamos ninguém. Amamos, tão-somente, a ideia que fazemos de alguém. É a um conceito nosso – em suma, é a nós mesmos – que amamos.
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We never love someone. We just love the idea we have of someone. It's a concept of ours - summing up, ourselves - that we love.
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Fingir é conhecer-se.
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Nature is the difference between the soul and God.
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It's in an inland sea that the river of my life ended.
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Ah, poder ser tu, sendo eu!Ter a tua alegre inconsciência,E a consciência disso!
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Pity him who lives at homeHappy with his life,Without a dream, a flexing of wings,To make him relinquishEven the warmest ember of his hearth!Pity him who is happy!He lives because life lasts.Nothing within him whispersMore than the primeval law:That life leads to the grave.
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I take with me the conscience of defeat as a victory banner.
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Being pleased with what they give you is proper of slaves. Asking for more is proper of children. Conquering more is proper of fools.