When one of my Japanese teacups is broken, I imagine that the real cause was not the careless hand of a maid but the anxieties of the figures inhabiting the curves of that porcelain. Their grim decision to commit suicide doesn't shock me: they used the maid as one of us might use a gun.

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من نفس المكان
يضجر الناس
وأنا من وجودي في ذاتي
أليس خليقاً بيِ ان أضجر؟

روحي تبحث عني..
في الجبال والسهول..
ليتها لا تعثر ابداً عليِّ

هارباً من ذاتي أحيا.
وأنا بذلك حيّ.

- فرناندو بيسوا

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Há um cansaço da inteligência abstracta, e é o mais horroroso dos cansaços. Não pesa como o cansaço do corpo, nem inquieta como o cansaço do conhecimento pela emoção. É um peso da consciência do mundo, um não poder respirar com a alma.