By day they’re full of
meaningless activity; by night they’re full of a
meaningless lack of it.By day I am nothing, and by night
I am I. There is no diference between me and these
streets, save they being streets and I a soul, which
perhaps is irrelevant when we consider the essence of things.
My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is
forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing
holds me.
All of this passes, and none of it means anything to me.
It’s all foreign to my fate, and even to fate as a whole. It’s
just unconsciousness, curses of protest when chance hurls
stones, echoes of unknown voices – a collective
mishmash of life.
The nocturnal glory of being great without being
anything! The sombre majesty of splendours no one
knows… And I suddenly experience the sublime feeling
of a monk in the wilderness or of a hermit in his retreat,
acquainted with the substance of Christ in the sands and
in the caves of withdrawal from the world.
Does dreaming of princesses serve a better purpose than dreaming of the front door to the office?
Fernando PessoaSome are exploited by God himself, and they are prophets and saints in this vacuous world.
Fernando PessoaI’m two, and both keep their distance –
Siamese twins that aren’t attached.
My worthless self lives on at the bottom of every expression, like an indissoluble residue at the bottom of a glass from which only water was drunk.
Fernando PessoaA tedium that includes the expectation of nothing but more tedium; a regret, right now, for the regret I’ll have
tomorrow for having felt regret today – huge confusions with no point and no truth, huge confusions…
I crave time in all its duration, and I
want to be myself unconditionally.
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