Quotes from Clarice Lispector

If the twinkling of the stars pains me, if this distant communication is possible, it is because something almost like a star quivers within me.

Because there are times when a person needs a little bitty death and doesn't even know it.

And I scream: I feel, I suffer, I am happy, I am moved. Only my enigma interests me. More than anything, I search for myself in my great void.

I, just from having felt affection, thought that loving is easy.

I don't want to have the terrible limitation of those who live merely from what can make sense. Not I: I want an invented truth. What shall I tell you? I shall tell you the instants. I go too far and only then do I exist and in a feverish way.

In no sense an intellectual, I write with my body. And what I write is like a dank haze. The words are sounds transfused with shadows that intersect unevenly, stalactites, woven lace, transposed organ music. I can scarcely invoke the words to describe this pattern, vibrant and rich, morbid and obscure, its counterpoint the deep bass of sorrow.

Tal vez la norestina ya hubiese llegado a la conclusión de que la vida incomoda bastante, el alma no cabe bien en el cuerpo, aun un alma pobre como la suya.

The future, at least, had the advantage of not being the present, and the worse can always take a turn for the better... For, strange though it may seem, she had faith. Composed of fine organic matter, she existed. Pure and simple.

I want shade, I want shade and anonymity. from "The Departure

Haz de nuevo la pregunta, Juana, no te he oído. —Quería saber qué pasa después de que se es feliz. ¿Qué ocurre después?

Esa muchacha no sabía que ella era lo que era, tal como un cachorro no sabe que es cachorro. Por eso no se sentía infeliz. Lo único que quería era vivir. No sabía para qué, no se lo preguntaba. Quién sabe, tal vez encontraba que había una ínfima gloria en vivir. Pensaba que una persona está obligada a ser feliz. De modo que lo era.

Real life is so secret that not even I, who am dying of it, have been given the password, I am dying without knowing of what. And the secret is such that only if the mission is finally carried out do I, all of a sudden, see that I was born entrusted with it - all of life is a secret mission.

Quiero aceptar mi libertad sin pensar en lo que muchos creen: que existir es cosa de locos, un caso de demencia. Porque lo parece. Existir no es lógico.

the greatest obstacle to my progress is me. I myself have been the biggest difficulty in my path. It's with enormous effort that I'm able to overcome myself.

Es como unas ganas de respirar fuerte, y también el miedo

Pero cada vez la odiaba más porque no podía amarla

And I want to accept my freedom without thinking what so many do, that existing is something for fools, a case of madness. Because that's what it seems like. Existing isn't logical.

One way of getting is not looking, one way of having is not asking...

Criava as mais falsas dificuldades para aquela coisa clandestina que era a felicidade. A felicidade sempre iria ser clandestina para mim. Parece que eu já pressentia.

No entender" era tan vasto que sobrepasaba a cualquier entender - entender era siempre limitado-. Pero no-entender no tenía fronteras y llevaba al infinito, al Dios.

I want the shining gravel in a dark brook. I want the sparkle of the stone beneath the rays of sun, I want death that frees me. I could manage to have pleasure if I abstained from thinking. Then I'd feel the ebb and flow of air in my lungs.

Às vezes sentava-me na rede, balançando-me com o livro aberto no colo, sem tocá-lo, em êxtase puríssimo. Não era mais uma menina com um livro: era uma mulher com o seu amante.

She saw dark, triumphant crimson in herself. What was making her glow so much? Boredom… Yes, in spite of everything there was fire under it, there was fire even when it represented death. Maybe this was the joy of living.

In my core I have the strange impression that I don't belong to the human species