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Ela acreditava em anjo e, porque acreditava, eles existiam | She believed in angels, and, because she believed, they existed

Clarice Lispector

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Clarice Lispector
Age: 56 †
Born: 1920
Born: December 10
Died: 1977
Died: December 9
Journalist
Model
Novelist
Screenwriter
Translator
Writer
Chechelnik
Helen Palmer
Teresa Quadros
Believe
Ems
Existed
Angels
Believed
Angel

More quotes by Clarice Lispector

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Do you ever suddenly find it strange to be yourself?
Clarice Lispector
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And even sadness was also something for rich people, for people who could afford it, for people who didn't have anything better to do. Sadness was a luxury.
Clarice Lispector
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I want the following word: splendor, splendor is fruit in all its succulence, fruit without sadness. I want vast distances. My savage intuition of myself.
Clarice Lispector
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Her curiosity instructed her more than the answers she was given.
Clarice Lispector
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In the world there exists no aesthetic plane, not even the aesthetic plane of goodness.
Clarice Lispector
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I write to save someone's life, probably my own
Clarice Lispector
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But I welcome the darkness where the two eyes of that soft panther glow. The darkness is my cultural broth. The enchanted darkness. I go on speaking to you, risking disconnection: I’m subterraneously unattainable because of what I know.
Clarice Lispector
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Do you know that hope sometimes consists only of a question without an answer?
Clarice Lispector
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All the world began with a yes. One molecule said yes to another molecule and life was born. But before prehistory there was the prehistory of the prehistory and there was the never and there was the yes. It was ever so. I don’t know why, but I do know that the universe never began. Make no mistake, I only achieve simplicity with enormous effort.
Clarice Lispector
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You don't understand music: you hear it. So hear me with your whole body.
Clarice Lispector
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I hear the mad song of a little bird and crush butterflies between my fingers.
Clarice Lispector
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I write as if to save somebody’s life. Probably my own. Life is a kind of madness that death makes. Long live the dead because we live in them.
Clarice Lispector
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No it is not easy to write. It is as hard as breaking rocks. Sparks and splinters fly like shattered steel.
Clarice Lispector
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Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?
Clarice Lispector
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The only truth is that I live. Sincerely, I live. Who am I? Well, that's a bit much.
Clarice Lispector
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The mystery of human destiny is that we are fated, but that we have the freedom to fulfill or not fulfill our fate: realization of our fated destiny depends on us. While inhuman beings like the cockroach realize the entire cycle without going astray because they make no choices.
Clarice Lispector
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I write and that way rid myself of me and then at last I can rest.
Clarice Lispector
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I just know that I don't want cheating. I refuse. I deepened myself but I don't believe in myself because my thought is invented.
Clarice Lispector
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And I want to be held down. I don't know what to do with the horrifying freedom that can destroy me.
Clarice Lispector
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How was she to tie herself to a man without permitting him to imprison her? And was there some means of acquiring things without those things possessing her?
Clarice Lispector