Fernando Pessoa Quotes

Let us not be deceived by hope, because it betrays, or by love, because it grows weary, or by life, because it satiates but does not sate, or even by death, because it brings more than you want and less than you expect.

عمر الخيام كانت له شخصية معينة، أما أنا فلا أملك لحسن الحظ أو لسوئه، أي شخصية على الاطلاق، ما أكونه في لحظة معينة، أنفصل عنه في اللحظة الموالية، ما كنته ذات يوم، أنساه في اليوم الذي يليه. لا يشبه عمر الخيام إلا ذاك الذي يعيش في عالم واحد، هو العالم الخارجي. أما من هو مثلي فيحيا في عالم داخلي متعاقب متنوع. وحتى لو رغب في أن تكون له نفس فلسفة عمر الخيام فلن يستطيع ذلك حتما،

I go forward slowly, dead, and my vision is no longer mine, it's nothing: it's only the vision of the human animal who, without wanting, inherited Greek culture, Roman order, Christian morality, and all the other illusions that constitute the civilization in which I feel.
Where can the living be?

Sailing is necessary, living is not necessary.

Let's not even touch life with the tips of our fingers.
Let's not even know the love in our minds.
May we never know the feel of a women's kiss, not even in our dreams.

I have all the conditions for happiness, save happiness. The conditions are detached from one another.

What is there to confess that's worthwhile or useful? What has happened to us has happened to everyone or only to us; if to everyone, then it's no novelty, and if only to us, then it won't be understood. If I write what I feel, it's to reduce the fever of feeling. What I confess is unimportant,

Like all who are impassioned, I take blissful delight in losing myself, in fully experiencing the thrill of surrender. And so I often write with no desire to think, in an externalized reverie, letting the words cuddle me like a baby in their arms. They form sentences with no meaning, flowing softly like water I can feel, a forgetful stream whose ripples mingle and undefine, becoming other, still other ripples, and still again other. Thus ideas and images, throbbing with expressiveness, pass through me in resounding processions of pale silks on which imagination shimmers like moonlight, dappled and indefinite.

Everything was asleep as if the universe was a mistake.

Original: Dormia tudo como se o universo fosse um erro.

Sometimes I muse about how wonderful it would be if I could string all my dreams together into one continuous life, a life consisting of entire days full of imaginary companions and created people.

Between my sleeping and dreaming,
Between me and the one in me
Who I suppose I am,
A river flows without end.

"30 August 1933"

Original: Sim, falar com gente dá-me vontade de dormir.

We all love each other, and the lie is the kiss we exchange.

I carry my awareness of defeat like a banner of victory.