Clarice Lispector
Clarice Lispector
Clarice Lispectorwas a Brazilian writer acclaimed internationally for her innovative novels and short stories. Born to a Jewish family in Podolia in Western Ukraine, she was brought to Brazil as an infant, amidst the disasters engulfing her native land following the First World War...
NationalityBrazilian
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth10 December 1920
CountryBrazil
cheating believe want
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.
crush song butterfly
I hear the mad song of a little bird and crush butterflies between my fingers.
knowing
Living isn't courage, knowing that you're living, that's courage
passion blow love-is
Love is so much more deadly than I had thought, love is so much inherent as the very lack, and we are guaranteed by a need to be renewed continuously. Love is now, is forever. There is just the blow of grace - call it passion.
believe angel ems
Ela acreditava em anjo e, porque acreditava, eles existiam" | "She believed in angels, and, because she believed, they existed
love life passion
Love is now, is always. All that is missing is the coup de grâce- which is called passion.
philosophical ends get-away
For only when I err do I get away from what I know and what I understand. If "truth" were what I can understand, it would end up being but a small truth, my-sized. Truth must reside precisely in what I shall never understand.
sadness luxury people
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.
forget strawberries seasons
But don't forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes.
hands ideas joy
Holding someone's hand was always my idea of joy.
thinking facts feels
To think is an act. To feel is a fact.
breathing silence world
The world's continual breathing is what we hear and call silence.
horse simple men
A horse is freedom so indominable that it becomes useless to imprison it to serve man: it lets itself be domesticated, but with a simple, rebellious toss of the head-shaking its mane like an abundance of free-flowing hair-it shows that its inner nature is always wild, translucent and free.
reality silence one-day
Reality prior to my language exists as an unthinkable thought. . . . life precedes love, bodily matter precedes the body, and one day in its turn language shall have preceded possession of silence.