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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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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
Long
Dead
Kind
Somebody
Life
Probably
Write
Death
Makes
Live
Madness
Writing
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More quotes by Clarice Lispector

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I' is merely one of the world's instantaneous spasms.
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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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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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.
Clarice Lispector
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There it is, the sea, the most incomprehensible of non-human existences.
Clarice Lispector
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Love is now, is always. All that is missing is the coup de grâce- which is called passion.
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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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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I hear the mad song of a little bird and crush butterflies between my fingers.
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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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
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My life, the most truthful one, is unrecognizable, extremely interior, and there is no single word that gives it meaning.
Clarice Lispector
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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
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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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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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Facts and particulars annoy me.
Clarice Lispector
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I write to save someone's life, probably my own
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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Her curiosity instructed her more than the answers she was given.
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