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There it is, the sea, the most incomprehensible of non-human existences.

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
Existences
Incomprehensible
Sea
Existence
Human
Humans

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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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I write and that way rid myself of me and then at last I can rest.
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I' is merely one of the world's instantaneous spasms.
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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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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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I write to save someone's life, probably my own
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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.
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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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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.
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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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Love is now, is always. All that is missing is the coup de grâce- which is called passion.
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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.
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You don't understand music: you hear it. So hear me with your whole body.
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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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I work only with lost and founds.
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Facts and particulars annoy me.
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Do you ever suddenly find it strange to be yourself?
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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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Everything in the world began with a yes. One molecule said yes to another molecule and life was born.
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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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