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Quote by Fernando Pessoa

“Nunca he sabido si mi sensibilidad era excesiva para mi inteligencia, o si mi inteligencia lo era para mi sensibilidad.”

Quote by Fernando Pessoa

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Fernando Pessoa
Fernando Pessoa

Portuguese poet known for his unique narrative style and rich inner world. Fernando Pessoa is considered one of the most influential writers of the 20th century, and his works are still widely studied and discussed today. more

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“Ya lo verás. Nadie nos dará a nosotros lo que le da libremente a las demás personas. Ni amor ni respeto, ni si quiera amistad. La única manera en que conseguiremos algo de eso es que los pongamos a todos en el lugar que les corresponde: debajo de nosotros. No podemos permitirnos ser impotentes o débiles. Tenemos que ser fuertes y obligarlos a someterse a nosotros. Si nos ruegan y se comportan, entonces tal vez les permitmos ser nuestros perros falderos. Para un rechazado como nosotros, eso es lo máximo a lo que podemos aspirar en cuanto a sentirnos queridos.”

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Book:World After
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“Her face and the garden Her face is like a summer garden, By divine beauty tended and by grace never forsaken, There bloom roses many, and lilies too, And I keep looking at it, for in spell bound state what else can I do, Yesterday she was a garden of roses, Last year she was the entire spring, where once in bloom, the beauty’s flower never closes, This year she has transformed into a garden blooming with new flowers, Daisies, daffodils, and sunflowers standing like beauty’s radiant towers, Rendered more radiant in the never ending splendour of her eyes, And the garden of beautiful roses growing all over her, even time defies, While I watch the garden of beauty grow over her face, My heart beats assume a new and lovely pace, That draw my mind into this world of endless beauty, And I know not whether it obeys my heart’s yearnings or it too has grown fond of her pure serenity, The summer has found a permanent residence in her face, infact within her, Because I still see the roses blooming over her face although it is late November, And when sometimes she brushes her hair with her fingers, The roses peek from her face to feel her finger tips and their magical wonders, And when she rests her eyelids upon her eyes, The pollen dust of million flowers, upon her waiting eyelashes, a perfect sheen applies, That neither sparkles nor glows, But in the garden of her face it simply in its splendour grows, And when the winter sun gets tired and retires finally, The lilies apply the mask of radiance on her tenderly, While the violets and narcissus seep deep into her brow, And what a wonder she is to look at now, A beauty with no end, where waves of summer flow interminably, As she rests her head on the pillow and closes her eyes slowly, The morning glory turns into the night glory, And then begins our own love story, Where the lovely and winding creepers grow all over us, over her and over me too, Finally the garden of beauty grows all over us, and now it shall be so, no matter what you do, I in the garden of her beauty where flowers bloom everywhere, And then my heart confesses, “Irma, let us hide in this garden somewhere, To be never found by time, and never felt by any season, Because finally we have found love in each other that defies every reason,” And this is how it has been for many years now, I and my every feeling of love sinking deep into her beauty’s eternal brow!”

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Book:They Loved in 2075!
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“El amor… Hay tantas palabras, frases y filosofías sobre él… Se nos llena la boca de amor. Los románticos escriben sobre él, la gente cree que lo siente, furioso, desbocado, pasional… Pero el amor del que hablan no es amor: ese pseudoamor encierra un monstruo que nos devora: el ego. El amor sólo es, no encierra nada. La mayoría de la gente no siente amor, sino necesidad de llenar una carencia. Eso es apego. No aman… sólo… quieren que se les quiera. Le ponen condiciones, exigen… Sólo enfrentándote a ese monstruo puedes saber qué es el Amor. Y te das cuenta de que sólo con Amor podemos comprender el Todo. Todo lo que nos sucede, todo lo que vivimos, hacia dónde vamos y de dónde venimos. Sólo con amor es posible comprender”

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Book:Alma
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