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Fernando Pessoa

Fernando Pessoa Quotes

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Famous Fernando Pessoa Quotes

“The mere thought of having to enter into contact with someone else makes me nervous. A simple invitation to have dinner with a friend produces an anguish in me that’s hard to define. The idea of any social obligation whatsoever – attending a funeral, dealing with someone about an office matter, going to the station to wait for someone I know or don’t know – the very idea disturbs my thoughts for an entire day, and sometimes I even start worrying the night before, so that I sleep badly. When it takes place, the dreaded encounter is utterly insignificant, justifying none of my anxiety, but the next time is no different: I never learn to learn.”

AnxietyShynessIntroversionSocial Interactions
Book:The Book of Disquiet
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“I dreamily and digestively drowse. I have time, between synaesthesias. And it's extraordinary to think that, if I were asked right now what I want for this short life, I could think nothing better than these long slow minutes, this absence of thought and emotion, of action and almost o sensation itself, this inner sunset of dissipated desire. And then it occurs to me, almost without thinking, that most if not all people live like this, with greater or lesser consciousness, moving forward or standing still, but still with the very same indifference towards ultimate aims, the same renunciation of their personal goals, the same watered-down life.”

Synaesthesia
Book:The Book of Disquiet
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“Há tres maneiras de ser situacionista, isto é, de ser partidario de qualquer situação política. A primeira é a conformidade por dotrina; a segunda a conformidade por aceitação; a terceira a conformidade por não-oposição. Deixo de parte uma das mais vulgares - a conformidade por vantagem [...]. A conformidade por indiferença vale por adesão por só não ser hostilização.”

PoliticsChangeFascismStatus QuoPhilosiphyIndiference
Book:Sobre o Fascismo a Ditadura Militar e Salazar
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“Mover-se é viver, dizer-se é sobreviver. Não há nada real na vida que o não seja porque se descreveu bem. Os críticos da casa pequena soem apontar que tal poema, longamente ritmado, não quer, afinal, dizer senão que o dia está bom. Mas dizer que o dia está bom é difícil, e o dia bom, ele mesmo, passa. Tems pois que conservar o dia bomem uma memória florida e prolixa, e assim constelar de novas flores ou de novos astros os campos ou os céus da exterioridade vazia e passageira.”

Literatura
Book:Livro do Desasocego - Tomo I e II
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“Hay metáforas más reales que las personas que pasan por la calle. Hay imágenes en los rincones de los libros que viven más nítidamente que muchos hombres y mujeres. Hay frases literarias que tienen una personalidad absolutamente humana. Hay fragmentos de párrafos míos que me hielan de pavor, de tal modo los siento claramente como seres humanos, tan bien perfilados contra las paredes de mi cuarto, por la noche, en la sombra. He escrito frases cuyo sonido -es imposible ocultar su sonido-, es absolutamente el de una cosa que ganó exterioridad absoluta y alma por completo.”

LiteraturaLibrosAlmaMetáforaPersonajes
Author:Fernando Pessoa
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“Eu nunca fiz senão sonhar. Tem sido esse, e esse apenas, o sentido da minha vida. Nunca tive outra preocupação verdadeira senão a minha vida interior. As maiores dores da minha vida esbatem-se-me quando, abrindo a janela para dentro de mim pude esquecer-me na visão do seu movimento. Nunca pretendi ser senão um sonhador. A quem me falou de viver nunca prestei atenção. Pertenci sempre ao que não está onde estou e ao que nunca pude ser. Tudo o que não é meu, por baixo que seja, teve sempre poesia para mim. Nunca amei senão coisa nenhuma. Nunca desejei senão o que nem podia imaginar. À vida nunca pedi senão que passasse por mim sem que eu a sentisse. Do amor apenas exigi que nunca deixasse de ser um sonho longínquo. Nas minhas próprias paisagens interiores, irreais todas elas, foi sempre o longínquo que me atraiu, e os aquedutos que se esfumam — quase na distância das minhas paisagens sonhadas, tinham uma doçura de sonho em relação às outras partes de paisagem — uma doçura que fazia com que eu as pudesse amar.”

AmorVidaLiberdadeSonhos
Author:Fernando Pessoa
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“I was only ever truly loved once. Everyone has always treated me kindly. Even the most casual acquaintance has found it difficult to be rude or brusque or even cool to me. Sometimes with a little help from me, that kindness could - or at least might - have developed into love or affection. I've had neither the patience nor the concentration of mind to want to make the effort. When I first noticed this in myself - so little do we know ourselves - I attributed it to some shyness of the soul. But then I realised that this wasn't the case, it was an emotional tedium, different from the tedium of life; an impatience with the idea of associating myself with one continuous feeling, especially if that meant steeling myself to make some sustained effort. Why bother thought the unthinking part of me. I have enough subtlety, enough psychological sensitivity to know how, but the why has always escaped me. My weakness of will always began by being a weakness of the will even to have a will. The same happened with my emotions, my intelligence, my will itself, with everything in my life. But on the one occasion that malicious fate caused me to believe I loved someone and to recognise that I really was loved in return , it left me at first stunned and confused as if my number had come up on the lottery and I had won a huge amount of money in some inconvertible currency. Then, because I'm only human, I felt rather flattered. However, that most natural of emotions soon passed, to be overtaken by a feeling difficult to define but one in which tedium, humiliation and weariness predominated. A feeling of tedium as if fate had imposed on me a task to be carried out during some unfamiliar evening shift. As if a new duty - that of an awful reciprocity - were given to me, ironically, as a privilege over which I would have to toil, all the time thanking fate for it. As if the flaccid monotony of life were not enough to bear without superimposing on it the obligatory monotony of a definite feeling.”

LoveTedium
Book:The Book of Disquiet
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“For me life is an inn where I must stay until the carriage from the abyss calls to collect me [...] I could consider this inn to be a prison, since I’m compelled to stay here; I could consider it a kind of club, because I meet other people here. However, unlike others, I am neither impatient nor sociable. I leave those who chatter in the living room, from where the cosy sound of music and voices reaches me. I sit at the door and fill my eyes and ears with the colours and sounds of the landscape and slowly, just for myself, I sing vague songs that I compose while I wait. Night will fall on all of us and the carriage will arrive. I enjoy the breeze given to me and the soul given to me to enjoy it and I ask no more questions, look no further. If what I leave written in the visitors’ book is one day read by others and entertains them on their journey, that’s fine. If no one reads it or is entertained by it, that’s fine too.”

LifeInn
Book:The Book of Disquiet
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“Mussolini ha combattuto la massoneria, cioè il grande ordine d'oriente d'Italia, più o meno nei termini pagani del progetto del signor José Cabral. Non so se abbia perseguitato molta gente, né mi interessa saperlo. Quello che so con assoluta certezza è che il Grande Ordine d'Oriente d'Italia è uno di quei morti che godono di ottima salute, Permane, si riunisce, si è depurato, e sta ad aspettare; se ci sia qualcosa da aspettare è un'altra questione. Il piccone del duce può distruggere l'edificio del comunismo italiano, ma non è abbastanza potente per abbattere colonne simboliche, fuse in un metallo che proviene dall'alchimia. Primo de Rivera ha combattuto la massoneria spagnola in modo più blando, secondo la sua indole fidalga. Anche qui so per certo che risultato ottenne: il grande sviluppo, numerico e politico, della massoneria in Spagna. Non so se alcuni fenomeni secondari, come ad esempio la caduta della monarchia, abbiano avuto qualche relazione con questo fatto. Hitler, dopo essersi appoggiato alle tre grandi logge cristiane di Prussia, ha agito secondo il lodevole costume ariano di mordere la mano che gli aveva dato da mangiare. Ha lasciato in pace le altre grandi logge, quelle che non lo avevano sostenuto e che non erano cristiane, e tramite un certo Göring ha intimato alle prime tre di sciogliersi. Esse hanno detto di sì - ai Göring si dice sempre di sì - e hanno continuato a esistere. Per una coincidenza, è stato dopo l'adozione di questa misura che sono cominciati a sorgere in seno al partito nazista contrasti e altre difficoltà. Nella storia, come il signor José Cabral saprà bene, ci sono molte coincidenze del genere.”

HitlerPrussiaStoriaItaliaMussoliniIroniaSpagnaCoincidenzeGöringMassoneria
Book:Pagine esoteriche
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“I’m riding a tram and, as is my habit, slowly absorbing every detail of the people around me. By ‘detail’ I mean things, voices, words. In the dress of the girl directly in front of me, for example, I see the material it’s made of, the work involved in making it – since it’s a dress and not just material – and I see in the delicate embroidery around the neck the silk thread with which it was embroidered and all the work that went into that. And immediately, as if in a primer on political economy, I see before me the factories and all the different jobs: the factory where the material was made; the factory that made the darker coloured thread that ornaments with curlicues the neck of the dress’ and I see the different workshops in the factories, the machines, the workmen, the seamstresses. My eyes’ inward gaze even penetrates into the offices, where I see the managers trying to keep calm and the figures set out in the account books, but that’s not all: beyond that I see into the domestic lives of all those who spend their working hours in these factories and offices...A whole world unfolds before my eyes all because the regularly irregular dark green edging to a pale green dress worn by the girl in front of me of whom I see only her brown neck. ‘A whole way of life lies before me. I sense the loves, the secrets, the souls of all those who worked just so that this woman in front of me on the tram should wear around her mortal neck the sinuous banality of a thread of dark green silk on a background of light green cloth. I grow dizzy. The seats on the tram, of fine, strong cane, carry me to distant regions, divide into industries, workmen, houses, lives, realities, everything. I leave the tram exhausted, like a sleepwalker, having lived a whole life.”

LifeObservanceHandiworkMaterial Goods
Book:The Book of Disquiet
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“I don't know how to feel or think or love. I'm a character in a novel as yet unwritten, hovering in the air and undone before I've even existed, amongst the dreams of someone who never quite managed to breathe life into me. I'm always thinking, always feeling, but my thoughts lack all reason, my emotions all feeling. I'm falling through a trapdoor, through infinite space … in a directionless, empty fall. My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool. And I, myself, am the centre that exists only because the geometry of the abyss demands it; I am the nothing around which all this spins, I exist so that it can spin, I am a centre that exists only because every circle has one.”

LoveThinkAbyssNothingFeelCircleCenterMaelstrom
Book:The Book of Disquiet
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“What’s especially irritating in grammars (have you noticed how exquisitely impossible it is for us to be talking about this?) – the most irritating part of grammars is the chapter on verbs, since these are what give meaning to sentences… An honest sentence should always have any number of possible meanings… Verbs!… A friend of mine who committed suicide – every time I have a longish conversation I suicide a friend – was going to dedicate his life to destroying verbs… - Why did he commit suicide? – Wait, I still don’t know… He wanted to discover and develop a method for surreptitiously not completing sentences. He used to say that he was searching for the microbe of meaning… He committed suicide – yes, of course – because one day he realized what a tremendous responsibility he’d assumed… The enormity of the problem made him go nuts…”

MeaningVerbs
Book:The Book of Disquiet: The Complete Edition
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“There are times when everything wearies us, including what we would normally find restful. Wearisome things weary us by definition, restful things by the wearying thought of procuring them. There are dejections of the soul past all anxiety and pain; I believe they're known only by those who elude human pains and anxieties and are sufficiently diplomatic with themselves to avoid even tedium. Reduced, in this way, to beings armoured against the world, it's no wonder that at a certain point in their self-awareness the whole set of armour should suddenly weigh on them and life become an inverted anxiety, a pain not suffered.”

AnxietyWearinessDejectionRestfulness
Book:The Book of Disquiet
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“To understand, I destroyed myself. To understand is to forget about loving. I know nothing more simultaneously false and telling than the statement by Leonardo da Vinci that we cannot love or hate something until we’ve understood it. Solitude devastates me; company oppresses me. The presence of another person derails my thoughts; I dream of the other’s presence with a strange absent-mindedness that no amount of my analytical scrutiny can define. Isolation has carved me in its image and likeness. The presence of another person – of any person whatsoever – instantly slows down my thinking, and while for a normal man contact with others is a stimulus to spoken expression and wit, for me it is a counterstimulus, if this compound word be linguistically permissible. When all by myself, I can think of all kinds of clever remarks, quick comebacks to what no one said, and flashes of witty sociability with nobody. But all of this vanishes when I face someone in the flesh: I lose my intelligence, I can no longer speak, and after half an hour I just feel tired. Yes, talking to people makes me feel like sleeping. Only my ghostly and imaginary friends, only the conversations I have in my dreams, are genuinely real and substantial, and in them intelligence gleams like an image in a mirror. The mere thought of having to enter into contact with someone else makes me nervous. A simple invitation to have dinner with a friend produces an anguish in me that’s hard to define. The idea of any social obligation whatsoever – attending a funeral, dealing with someone about an office matter, going to the station to wait for someone I know or don’t know – the very idea disturbs my thoughts for an entire day, and sometimes I even start worrying the night before, so that I sleep badly. When it takes place, the dreaded encounter is utterly insignificant, justifying none of my anxiety, but the next time is no different: I never learn to learn. ‘My habits are of solitude, not of men.’ I don’t know if it was Rousseau or Senancour who said this. But it was some mind of my species, it being perhaps too much to say of my race.”

The Book Of Disquiet
Author:Fernando Pessoa
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“But there are times in our meditation – and they come to all who meditate – when everything is suddenly worn-out, old, seen and reseen, even though we have yet to see it. Because no matter how much we meditate on something, and through meditation transform it, whatever we transform it into can only be the substance of meditation. At a certain point we are overwhelmed by a yearning for life, by a desire to know without the intellect, to meditate with only our senses, to think in a tactile or sensory mode, from inside the object of our thought, as if it were a sponge and we were water.”

Fernando PessoaThe Book Of Disquiet
Book:The Book of Disquiet
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