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Do you ever suddenly find it strange to be yourself?

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
Ever
Suddenly
Strange
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Do you know that hope sometimes consists only of a question without an answer?
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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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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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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.
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In the world there exists no aesthetic plane, not even the aesthetic plane of goodness.
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I write to save someone's life, probably my own
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You don't understand music: you hear it. So hear me with your whole body.
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Her curiosity instructed her more than the answers she was given.
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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?
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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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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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There it is, the sea, the most incomprehensible of non-human existences.
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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.
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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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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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So long as I have questions to which there are no answers, I shall go on writing.
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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.
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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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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