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“To posses in the shade, that nobility of spirit that makes no demands on life. To be in the whirl of the worlds like dust of flowers, sailing through the afternoon air on unknown wind and falling, in the torpor of dusk, wherever it falls, lost among larger things. To be this with a sure understanding, neither happy nor sad, grateful to the sun for its brilliance and to the stars for their remoteness. To be no more, have no more, want no more … The music of the hungry beggar, the song of blind man, the relic of the unknown wayfarer, the tracks in the desert of the camel without burden or destination …” — Pessoa, Fernando
To posses in the shade, that nobility of spirit that makes no demands on life. To be in the whirl of the worlds like dust of flowers, sailing through the afternoon air on unknown wind and falling, in the torpor of dusk, wherever it falls, lost among larger things. To be this with a sure understanding, neither happy nor sad, grateful to the sun for its brilliance and to the stars for their remoteness. To be no more, have no more, want no more … The music of the hungry beggar, the song of blind man, the relic of the unknown wayfarer, the tracks in the desert of the camel without burden or destination …