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#pessoa
humanismo-nostalgico · a year ago
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Quiero ser una obra de arte, del alma por lo menos, ya que del cuerpo no puedo serlo.
Fernando Pessoa, «La escritura del desasosiego: una poética del pensar»
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finita--la--commedia · a year ago
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The best way to travel, after all, is to feel, To feel everything in every way, To feel everything excessively, Because all things are, in truth, excessive And all reality is an excess, a violence, An extraordinarily vivid hallucination.
Fernando Pessoa (1880-1935), from “Ode Marítima”, translated by David G. Frier in: “Pessoa in an Intertextual Web. Influence and Innovation”
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humanismo-nostalgico · 9 months ago
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Me lleno de ira. Querría comprenderlo todo, saberlo todo, cumplirlo todo, decirlo todo, disfrutarlo todo, sufrirlo todo, sí, sufrirlo todo. Pero no tengo nada de todo esto, nada, nada. Estoy anulado por la idea de lo que querría tener, poder, sentir. Mi vida es un inmenso sueño. Pienso, en ocasiones, que quisiera cometer todos los crímenes, todos los vicios, todas las acciones bellas, nobles, grandes, beber la belleza, la verdad, el bien, de un solo trago, y dormirme después para siempre en el pacífico seno de la Nada.
Fernando Pessoa, «Diarios»
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renovador · 3 years ago
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Eu sou aquilo que perdi.
Fernando Pessoa.
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humanismo-nostalgico · 9 months ago
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Escribo, triste, en mi cuarto tranquilo, solo como siempre yo he estado, solo como siempre estaré. Y pienso si mi voz, aparentemente tan poca cosa, no encarna la sustancia de millares de voces, el hambre de decirse de millares de vidas, la paciencia de millones de almas sometidas como la mía al destino cotidiano, al sueño inútil, a la esperanza sin vestigios. En estos momentos mi corazón late más alto por mi conciencia de él. Vivo más porque vivo mayor.
Fernando Pessoa, «El libro del desasosiego»
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objetpetita · 3 years ago
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“There are moments, such as the one that oppresses me now, when I feel my own self far more than I feel external things, and everything transforms into a night of rain and mud where, lost in the solitude of an out-of-the-way station, I wait interminably for the next third-class train.” ―Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
“Look, I am living. On what? Neither childhood nor future are growing less. . . . . Supernumerous existence wells up in my heart.” ―Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies (The Ninth Elegy)
“I am, I am, I am.” ―Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
“A man said to the universe: “Sir, I exist!” “However,” replied the universe, “The fact has not created in me A sense of obligation.” ―Stephen Crane, War Is Kind and Other Poems
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heteroglossia · 3 years ago
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“Have you ever considered, beloved Other, how invisible we all are to each other? Have you ever thought about how little we know each other? We look at each other without seeing. We listen to each other and hear only a voice inside ourself. The words of others are mistakes of our hearing, shipwrecks of our understanding. How confidently we believe in our meanings of other people’s words. We hear death in words they speak to express sensual bliss. We read sensuality and life in words they drop from their lips without the slightest intention of being profound. The voice of brooks that you interpret, pure explicator … The voice of trees whose rustling means what we say it means … Ah, my unknown love, this is all just us and our fantasies, all ash, trickling down the bars of our cell!
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
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