The unnatural and the strange have a perfume of their own - Fernando Pessoa

My dreams are a stupid shelter, like an umbrella against lightning.

Original: Por enquanto, visto que vivemos em sociedade, o único dver dos superiores é reduzirem ao mínimo a sua participação na vida da tribo. Não ler jornais, ou lê-los só para saber o que de pouco importante ou curioso se passa. [...] O supremo estado honroso para um homem superior é não saber quem é o chefe de Estado do seu país, ou se vive sob monarquia ou sob república. Toda a sua atitude deve ser colocar-se a alma de modo que a passagem das coisas, dos acontecimentos não o incomode. Se o não fizer terá que se interessar pelos outros, para cuidar de si próprio.

All of life's unpleasant experiences – when we make fools of ourselves, act thoughtlessly, or lapse in our observance of some virtue – should be regarded as mere external accidents which can't affect the substance of our soul. We should see them as toothaches or calluses of life, as things that bother us but remain outside us (even though they're ours), or that only our organic existence need consider and our vital functions worry about.

When we achieve this attitude, which in essence is that of the mystics, we're protected not only from the world but also from ourselves, for we've conquered what is foreign in us, contrary and external to us, and therefore our enemy.

Horace said* that the just man will remain undaunted, even if the world crumbles all around him. Although the image is absurd, the point is valid. Even if what we pretend to be (because we coexist with others) crumbles around us, we should remain undaunted – not because we're just, but because we're ourselves, and to be ourselves means having nothing to do with external things that crumble, even if they crumble right on top of what for them we are.

For superior men, life should, life should be a dream that spurns confrontations.