Auster e A invenção da solidão

“It is also true that memory sometimes comes to him as a voice. It is a voice that speaks inside him, and it is not necessarily his own. It speaks to him in the way a voice might tell stories to a child, and yet at times this voice makes fun of him, or calls him to attention, or curses him in no uncertain terms. At times it willfully distorts the story it is telling him, changing the facts to suit its whims, catering to the interests of drama rather than truth. Then he must speak to it in his own voice and tell it to stop, thus returning it to the silence it came from. At other times it sings to him. At still other times it whispers. And then there are the times it merely hums, or babbles, or cries out in pain. And even when it says nothing, he knows it is still there, and in the silence of this voice that says nothing, he waits for it to speak.”
― Paul Auster

Dream

Quem sonha de dia tem consciência de muitas coisas que escapam a quem sonha só de noite.

Edgar Allan Poe

Recordação da Casa dos Mortos

A melhor definição que posso dar de um homem é a de um ser que se habitua a tudo. Dostoiévski

Dostoiévski, hoje

- Por que não fazes nada?
- Eu faço...
- O quê?
- Um trabalho...
- Que trabalho?
- Penso.
Crime e Castigo

My favourite Oscar quotation

A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

It hurts

Each step requires effort. Pain is a natural consequence. However, it would be more painful if the dream were not meant to be fulfilled. Writing hurts. Too much. But denying it is crazy. I go on struggling. My imagination is grateful.

Hoje: John Keats

A poesia nos deve surpreender pelo seu delicado excesso e não porque é diferente. Deve tocar nosso irmão como se fosse suas próprias palavras, como se ele fosse se lembrasse de algo que, na noite dos tempos, já conhecia em seu coração. A beleza de um poema não está em deixar o leitor contente. É sempre uma surpresa capaz de nos tirar a respiração. Ela deve ser como o pôr do sol: milagroso e natural, ao mesmo tempo.

The happy sun is shining, by Fernando Pessoa

The happy sun is shining The fields are green and gay, But my poor heart is pining For something far away. It`s pining just for you, It`s pining for thy kiss. It does not matter if you're true To this. What matter is just you. I now the sea is beaming Under the summer sun. I know the waves are gleaming, Each one and every one. But I am far from you, And so far from your kiss! And that`s all I get that's really true In this. What matters is just you. Oh, yes, the sky is splendid, So blue as it now, The air and light are blended, Oh yes, hot, anyhow, Nothing of this is you I'm absent from your kiss, That`s all I get that`s sad and true In this What matter is just you.