Fernando Pessoa Quotes
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I don't believe in the landscape.
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O poeta é um fingidor.Finge tão completamenteQue chega a fingir que é dorA dor que deveras sente.
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To write is to forget. Literature is the pleasantest way of ignoring life.
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And let our despite go to those who work and fight and our hate to those who hope and trust.
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Destiny gave me only two things: a few accounting books and the gift of dreaming.
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Não tenho ambições nem desejosSer poeta não é uma ambição minhaÉ a minha maneira de estar sozinho.
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The sea is fulfilled, and the Empire fell apart. Lord, Portugal must yet fulfill itself!
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God gave the sea the danger and the abyss, but it was in it that He mirrored the sky.
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I say it because I don't believe.
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Who doesn't feel commands. He who only thinks what is required in order to win, wins.
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Without madness what is man more than the healthy beast, corpse adjourned that procreates?
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Our problem isn't that we're individualists. It's that our individualism is static rather than dynamic. We value what we think rather than what we do. We forget that we haven't done, or been, what we thought; that the first function of life is action, just as the first property of things is motion.
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A literatura é a maneira mais agradável de ignorar a vida.
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I never go to where's a risk. I'm frightened of dangers down to boredom.
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Art lies because it's social.
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I'm all those things, even though I don't want to, in the confuse depth of my fatal sensibility.
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A tedium that includes only the anticipation of more tedium; the regret, now, of tomorrow regretting having regretted today.
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If I had written King Lear, I would regret it all my life afterwards. Because that work is so big, that its defects show as huge, its monstrous defects, things even minimal in between some scenes and their possible perfection. It's not the sun with spots; it's a broken greek statue.
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Who am I to myself? Just a feeling of mine.
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In any spirit that isn't deformed there is the belief in God. In any spirit that is not deformed there isn't the belief in a particular God.
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I never meant to be but a dreamer.
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These pages are not my confession; they’re my definition. And I feel, as I begin to write it, that I can write it with some semblance of truth.
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We become sphynxes, though fake, up to the point we no longer know who we are.
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Enthusiasm is rude.