“Provo amore per tutto ciò, forse perché non ho nient’altro da amare - o forse anche perché niente vale l’amore di un’anima e, se davvero desideriamo dare amore, nulla cambia se lo diamo alla piccola sagoma del mio calamaio o alla grande indifferenza delle stelle.”
“I never paid any attention to people who told me to go out and live. I belonged always to whatever was far from me and to whatever I could never be. Anything that was not mine, however base, always seemed to me to be full of poetry. The only thing I ever loved was pure nothingness.”
The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd–The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.
—Fernando Pessoa, from The Book of Disquiet (Pantheon, 1991, originally published in 1982)
— Rainer Maria Rilke, The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke | Pablo Neruda (?) | Louise Glück, Vita Nova | Alberto Caeiro, The Collected Poems of Alberto Caeiro | Vladimir Nabokov, Mary | Etel Adnan, Jebu | Virginia Woolf, A Writer’s Diary | Bangtan Sonyeondan (방탄소년단), 봄날 (Spring Day) | Artwork by Claude Monet
I don’t know if the stars rule the world Or if Tarot or playing cards Can reveal anything. I don’t know if the rolling of dice Can lead to any conclusion. But I also don’t know If anything is attained By living the way most people do.
Yes, I don’t know If I should believe in this daily rising sun Whose authenticity no one can guarantee me, Or if it would be better (because better or more convenient) To believe in some other sun, One that shines even at night, Some profound incandescence of things, Surpassing my understanding.
For now… (Let’s take it slow) For now I have an absolutely secure grip on the stair-rail, I secure it with my hand – This rail that doesn’t belong to me And that I lean on as I ascend… Yes… I ascend… I ascend to this: I don’t know if the stars rule the world.
Nunca amamos a nadie. Amamos, tan solamente, a la idea que nos hacemos de alguien. Es a un concepto nuestro –en suma, a nosotros mismos– a lo que amamos.
Esto es verdad en toda la escala del amor. En el amor sexual buscamos un placer nuestro dado por intermedio de un cuerpo extraño. En el amor diferente del sexual, buscamos un placer nuestro dado por intermedio de una idea nuestra. El onanista es abyecto, pero, en exacta verdad, el onanista es la perfecta expresión lógica del amante. Es el único que no disimula ni se engaña.
birkaç gündür nane limon içmekten içimde naneler filiz verdi, limon ağacı serpildi sanki. sesim kısık hastayken bile benliğimin derinlerindeki romantiği susturamamak, bi çeşit delilik bence
The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.
“My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony.”
― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet(trans. Richard Zenith)
