The human soul is a madhouse of the grotesque.

The value of things is not the time they last, but the intensity with which they occur. That is why there are unforgettable moments and unique people!

I am me again, exactly as I am not.

The lack of respect between men, the indifference that allows them to kill others without compunction (as murderers do) or without thinking that they are killing (as soldiers do), comes from the fact that no one pays due attention to the apparently abstruse idea that other people have souls too.

We are hollow inside and out, pariahs of anticipation and promise.

There's enough metaphysics in not thinking about anything.

My nation is the Portuguese language,' he declared through Bernardo Soares (Text 259), but he also said: ‘I don't write in Portuguese. I write my own self.