Quotes About Emptiness

Yes, tedium is boredom with the world, the malaise of living, the weariness of having lived; in truth, tedium is the feeling in one's flesh of the endless emptiness of things.

I take comfort in these reflections, since I can't take comfort in life.

I weep over a dead life that I carry inside me and never lived.

Passeávamos às vezes, braço dado, sob os cedros e as olaias e nenhum de nós pensava em viver

The only thing I've loved is nothing at all. The only thing I've desired is what I couldn't even imagine. All I asked of life is that it go on by without my feeling it. All I demanded of love is that it never stop being a distant dream.

His voice was dull and tremulous, the voice of one who hopes for nothing, because all hope is vain.

My life is so sad, and yet I do not even consider weeping over it; my hours are so false, and I do not even dream the gesture that might end them.

A tedium that includes the expectation of nothing but more tedium; a regret, right now, for the regret I'll have tomorrow for having felt regret today – huge confusions with no point and no truth, huge confusions…

É tão magno o tédio, tão soberano o horror de estar vivo, que não concebo que coisa haja que pudesse servir de lenitivo, de antídoto, de bálsamo ou esquecimento para ele. Dormir horroriza-me como tudo. Morrer horroriza-me como tudo. Ir e parar são a mesma coisa impossível. Esperar e descrer equivalem-se em frio e cinza. Sou uma prateleira de frascos vazios.

Your profile relies on you not being anything and the shape of your unreal body unstrings and scatters the pearls of the very idea that you even have a shape. You have already passed, you have already been, I have already loved you — that is how I feel your presence.

O que me dói não é O que há no coração Mas essas coisas lindas Que nunca existirão… São as formas sem forma Que passam sem que a dor As possa conhecer Ou as sonhar o amor. São como se a tristeza Fosse árvore e uma a uma, Caíssem suas folhas Entre o vestígio e a bruma

Everything belongs to others except my regret that it doesn't belong to me.

To be reincarnated in a stone or a speck of dust – my soul weeps with this yearning. I'm losing my taste for everything, including even my taste for finding everything tasteless.

Life spiraling into Nothingness, infinitely yearning for what it cannot have.

Oggi, all'improvviso, sono giunto a una sensazione assurda e giusta. Mi sono reso conto, in un lampo, che non sono nessuno. Nessuno, assolutamente nessuno.

Eis-me aqui! O que há para mim senão vacuidade No mundo (...), o que me destinastes? O vazio? O silêncio? A escuridão? Desses-me o instinto deles, não a plena Torturação da luz.

And what a refreshing and happy horror that there was nobody there! Not even we, who walked there, were there… For we were nobody. We were nothing at all… We had no life for Death to have to kill. We were so tenuous and slight that the wind's passing left us prostrate, and time's passage caressed us like a breeze grazing the top of a palm.

In these random impressions, and with no desire to be other than random, I indifferently narrate my factless autobiography, my lifeless history. These are my Confessions, and if in them I say nothing, it's because I have nothing to say.

Fernando Pessoa

This is my morality, or metaphysics, or me: passer-by of everything, even of my own soul, I belong to nothing, I desire nothing, I am nothing – just an abstract centre of impersonal sensations, a fallen sentient mirror reflecting the world's diversity. I don't know if I'm happy this way. Nor do I care.

Nothing is worthwhile, my distant love, except knowing how sweet it is to know that nothing is worthwhile

Hours of ashen wit, days of spatial longing, inner centuries of outer landscapes … And we did not ask ourselves what it was for, because we took pleasure in knowing that it wasn't for anything.

For everything that exists I feel a visual affection, an intellectual fondness – nothing in the heart. I have faith in nothing, hope in nothing, charity for nothing. I feel only horror and nausea for the sincere souls of all sincerities and the mystics of all mysticisms, or rather, for the sincerities of all sincere souls and the mysticisms of all mystics.

a tedium of feeling anything at all ...