Whatever I feel is felt against my will so that I can write that I felt it.

Fernando Pessoa

Fernando Pessoa

Profession: Author
Nationality: Portuguese

Whatever I feel is felt against my will so that I can write that I felt it. Fernando Pessoa

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A boat would seem to be an object whose one purpose is to travel, but its real purpose is not to travel but to reach harbour. We found ourselves on the high seas, with no idea of which port we should be aiming for.

Kindness is a temperamental caprice and we do not have the right to make others the victims of our caprice however humane or tender-hearted.

What can I expect from myself? My sensation in all their horrible acuity, and a profound awareness of feeling. A sharp mind that only destroys me, and an unusual capacity for dreaming to keep me entertained. A dead will and a reflection that cradles it, like a living child.

Why is art beautiful? Because it's useless. Why is life ugly? Because it's all aims, objectives and intentions.

Let us sculpt in hopeless silence all our dreams of speaking.

The creation of something complete and whole, be it good or bad – and if it's never entirely good, it's very often not all bad – yes, the creation of something complete seems to stir in me above all a feeling of envy. A completed thing is like a child; although imperfect like everything human, it belongs to us like our own children.

You've never heard the wind blow. The wind only speaks of the wind. What you heard was a lie, And the lie is in you.

Drunk on errors, for a few moments I stray away from feeling myself live.

I feel so isolated that I'm aware of the distance between me and my suit.

And when the lie begins to give us pleasure, let us speak the truth in order to lie to the lie.

I'm nothing. I'll always be nothing. I can't want to be something. But I have in me all the dreams of the world.

To observe oneself as one observes nature; to gaze on one's impressions as one would on a field — that is true wisdom.

Why should I care that no one reads what I write? I write to forget about life, and I publish because that's one of the rules of the game.

All ideals and all ambitions are a hysteria of prattling women posing as men.