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Eu

Pessoa


Deus quer, o homem sonha, a obra nasce

God wants, man #eams, $e concept born

%


&e value of $ings % not ' time $ey la(, but ' intensity wi$ which $ey occur. &at % why $ere are unfor)*able moments and unique people!

I feel as if I'm always on ' ver) of waking up


NĂŁo s+ nada.

I am no$ing.

Nunca serei nada. I will never be no$ing

NĂŁo posso querer ser I cannot w%h to be nada.

no$ing.

Ă€ pa-e %so, tenho em Besides $at,

mim todos os sonhos do I hold inside me

mundo.

all ' #eams of ' world.


My s+l % impatient wi$ itself, as wi$ a bo$ersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and % forever ' sam/ Every$ing interests me,

but no$ing holds m/

S贸 o que sonhamos 茅 o que verdadeiramente somos, porque o ma%, por estar realizado, pe-enece ao mundo e a toda a )nte


In $% metallic a) of barba0ans, only a relentless cultivation of +r ability to #eam, to analyse and to captivate can prevent +r personality from de)nerating into no$ing or else into a personality like all ' rest.


Para ser grande, sê inteiro: nada Teu exa)ra + exclui. Sê todo em cada co%a. Põe quanto és No mínimo que fazes. Assim em cada lago a lua toda B0lha, porque alta vive

To be great, be whole; Exclude no$ing, exag)rate no$ing $at % not y+. Be whole in every$ing. Put all y+ are Into ' smallest $ing y+ do. So, in each lake, ' moon 1ines wi$ 2lendor Because it blooms up abov/


Escrever é esquecer. A literatura é a maneira ma% agradável de ignorar a vida

Sometimes, when I wake up at night, I feel inv%ible hands

weaving my destiny.


I've always been an ironic #eamer, unfai$ful to my inner prom%es. Like a complete +tsider, a casual observer of whom I $+ght I was, I've always enjoyed watching my day#eams go do3 in defeat. I was never convinced of what I believed in. I filled my hands wi$ sand, called it gold, and opened $em up to let it slide $r+gh. Words were my only tru$. When ' 0ght words were said, all was done;

' rest was ' sand $at had always been.


We

wor1ip

perfection

because

we

can't have it; if we had it, we w+ld reject

it.

Perfection

%

inhuman,

because humanity % imperfect.


&e poet % a pretender He pretends so completely &at he even pretends O poeta ĂŠ um fingidor. Fin) tĂŁo completamente Que chega a fingir que ĂŠ dor A dor que deveras sent/

$at it % pain &e pain he truly feels


To live % to be someone els/ Feeling % impossible if we feel today as we felt yesterday: to feel today ' same $ing we felt yesterday % not to feel at all--it's

merely

to

remember

today

what we felt yesterday, since today we are ' living cadaver of yesterday's lo( life


I have a c+ntry homes on ' +tski-s of lif/ I escape from ' city of my actions to ' trees and flowers of my reve0/ Not a single echo from ' life of my acts reaches my green retreat. I’m lulled by my memory as by an endless procession. From ' goblets of my me4tation I #ink only ' smile of ' golden wine; I #ink it only wi$ my eyes, closing $em, and Life passes by like a sail in ' 4(ance


Life % what we make of it. Travel % ' traveler. What we see %n't what we see but what we ar/

Chov/ Que fiz eu da vida? Fiz o que ela f5 de mim... De pensada, mal vivida... T0(e de quem ĂŠ assim!


O resto é a vida que nos deixa, a chama que morre no nosso olhar, a púrpura ga(a antes de a vestirmos, a lua que vela o nosso abandono, as estrelas que estendem o seu silêncio sobre a nossa hora de desengano. Assídua a mágoa esté0l e amiga que nos ape-a o peito com amor.


May

I

at

b+ndless

lea(

carry,

possibility

to

contained

'

whe$er in defiance, or as a challen),

in

or in mere desperation - as we van%h

' abyss of every$ing, ' glory of

into

my 4sillusion like $at of a great

what

#eam,

any$ing, and ' sand swallows $ose

and

'

2lendor

of

not

quicksand. reason,

because

one

for

knows

banner in feeble hands, but (ill and

wi$+t.

all a banner, #ag)d $r+gh mud

every$ing:

and

eternity. I carry my awareness of defeat

ra%ed

high

reason -

for

of

'

who

weak

knows

but

what

And my

it

no

knows

wi$

blood

as

one

believing like a banner of defeat; a

'

banners

No

' life,

swallows sand my

like a banner of victory.�

$ose

covers

prose,

my



FPessoa