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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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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
Fruit
Following
Distances
Distance
Splendor
Word
Savage
Without
Savages
Intuition
Vast
Sadness

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So long as I have questions to which there are no answers, I shall go on writing.
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You don't understand music: you hear it. So hear me with your whole body.
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In the world there exists no aesthetic plane, not even the aesthetic plane of goodness.
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Facts and particulars annoy me.
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Do you know that hope sometimes consists only of a question without an answer?
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And now -- now it only remains for me to light a cigarette and go home. Dear God, only now am I remembering that people die. Does that include me? Don't forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes.
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Do you ever suddenly find it strange to be yourself?
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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.
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The only truth is that I live. Sincerely, I live. Who am I? Well, that's a bit much.
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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.
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Her curiosity instructed her more than the answers she was given.
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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.
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I hear the mad song of a little bird and crush butterflies between my fingers.
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I work only with lost and founds.
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My life, the most truthful one, is unrecognizable, extremely interior, and there is no single word that gives it meaning.
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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?
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Love is so much more deadly than I had thought, love is so much inherent as the very lack, and we are guaranteed by a need to be renewed continuously. Love is now, is forever. There is just the blow of grace - call it passion.
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Love is now, is always. All that is missing is the coup de grâce- which is called passion.
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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.
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Everything in the world began with a yes. One molecule said yes to another molecule and life was born.
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