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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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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
Writing
Shattered
Like
Sparks
Steel
Breaking
Rocks
Easy
Write
Hard
Splinters
More quotes by Clarice Lispector
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
Everything in the world began with a yes. One molecule said yes to another molecule and life was born.
Clarice Lispector
I work only with lost and founds.
Clarice Lispector
In the world there exists no aesthetic plane, not even the aesthetic plane of goodness.
Clarice Lispector
Ela acreditava em anjo e, porque acreditava, eles existiam | She believed in angels, and, because she believed, they existed
Clarice Lispector
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
There it is, the sea, the most incomprehensible of non-human existences.
Clarice Lispector
I' is merely one of the world's instantaneous spasms.
Clarice Lispector
Love is now, is always. All that is missing is the coup de grâce- which is called passion.
Clarice Lispector
Her curiosity instructed her more than the answers she was given.
Clarice Lispector
Do you know that hope sometimes consists only of a question without an answer?
Clarice Lispector
I write and that way rid myself of me and then at last I can rest.
Clarice Lispector
You don't understand music: you hear it. So hear me with your whole body.
Clarice Lispector
I write to save someone's life, probably my own
Clarice Lispector
Whether she won or lost, she would continue to wrestle with life. It would not be with her own life alone but with all of life. Something had finally been released within her. And there it was, the sea.
Clarice Lispector
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
I hear the mad song of a little bird and crush butterflies between my fingers.
Clarice Lispector
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
Today at school I wrote an essay about Flag Day which was so beautiful, but ever so beautiful - for I even used words without really knowing what they meant.
Clarice Lispector
Do you ever suddenly find it strange to be yourself?
Clarice Lispector
