Fernando Pessoa

"Da wir dem Leben keine Schönheit abzuringen vermögen, sollten wir zumindest versuchen, unserem Unvermögen Schönheit abzuringen."

"Das große Los des Lebens fällt nur denen zu, die es auf gut Glück kaufen."

"Diese ganze Landschaft ist nirgendwo."

"Güte ist das Feingefühl roher Seelen."

"Ich beneide alle Leute darum, nicht ich zu sein."

"Ich habe keine Begabung zum Chef, auch nicht zum Gefolgsmann."

"Schlaf, dass das Leben ein Nichts ist! // Schlaf, dass alles vergeblich ist!"

"Stumm betrachte ich den See, // den eine Brise kräuselt. // Nichts weiß ich, wenn ich an das Ganze denke // Oder es ist das Ganze, das mich vergisst."

"Unsere größte Angst als einen Zwischenfall ohne Bedeutung ansehen, nicht nur im Leben des Weltalls, sondern in dem unserer eigenen Seele, das ist der Anfang der Weisheit. Sie mitten in der Angst so ansehen ist die vollkommene Weisheit. In dem Augenblick, in dem wir leiden, scheint der menschliche Schmerz unendlich zu sein. Doch weder ist der menschliche Schmerz unendlich, noch ist unser Schmerz mehr wert als eben ein Schmerz, den wir ertragen müssen."

"Wer leidet, leidet allein."

"Wolken ohne Schatten, // Auf der Südseite aber, // Ist ein Stückchen Himmel // Traurig blau."

"Zwischen Schlaf und Traum, // Zwischen mir und was in mir ist // Und was ich vermute zu sein, // Fließt ein unendlicher Fluss."

"Caeiro [Fernando Pessoa] unterläuft die Unterscheidung zwischen dem Schein und dem, was etwa "Denkergedanken" hinter ihm ausmachen wollen. Die Dinge, wie er sie sieht, sind als was sie scheinen. Sein Pan-Deismus basiert auf einer Ding-Metaphysik, die in der modernen Dichtung des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts noch Schule machen sollte."

"Descobri que a leitura é uma forma servil de sonhar. Se tenho de sonhar, porque não sonhar os meus próprios sonhos?"

"A essência do universo é a contradição."

"À dolorosa luz das grandes lâmpadas eléctricas da fábrica Tenho febre e escrevo. Escrevo rangendo os dentes, fera para a beleza disto, Para a beleza disto totalmente desconhecida dos antigos.'Ó rodas, ó engrenagens, r-r-r-r-r-r-r eterno! Forte espasmo retido dos maquinismos em fúria! Em fúria fora e dentro de mim, Por todos os meus nervos dissecados fora, Por todas as papilas fora de tudo com que eu sinto! Tenho os lábios secos, ó grandes ruídos modernos, De vos ouvir demasiadamente de perto, E arde-me a cabeça de vos querer cantar com um excesso De expressão de todas as minhas sensações, Com um excesso contemporâneo de vós, ó máquinas!"

"Todo o homem que merece ser célebre sabe que não vale a pena sê-lo."

"Se, depois de eu morrer, quiserem escrever a minha biografia, Não há nada mais simples. Tem só duas datas—a da minha nascença e a da minha morte. Entre uma e outra coisa todos os dias são meus."

"Ah, poder ser tu, sendo eu! Ter a tua alegre inconsciência, E a consciência disso!"

"Não tenho ambições nem desejos Ser poeta não é uma ambição minha É a minha maneira de estar sozinho."

"Sejamos simples e calmos, Como os regatos e as árvores, E Deus amar-nos-á fazendo de nós Belos como as árvores e os regatos, E dar-nos-á verdor na sua primavera, E um rio aonde ir ter quando acabemos... E não nos dará mais nada, porque dar-nos mais seria tirar-nos mais."

"Sou um guardador de rebanhos. O rebanho é os meus pensamentos E os meus pensamentos são todos sensações. Penso com os olhos e com os ouvidos E com as mãos e os pés E com o nariz e a boca. Pensar uma flor é vê-la e cheirá-la E comer um fruto é saber-lhe o sentido.'Por isso quando num dia de calor Me sinto triste de gozá-lo tanto, E me deito ao comprido na erva, E fecho os olhos quentes, Sinto todo o meu corpo deitado na realidade, Sei a verdade e sou feliz."

"O único sentido oculto das coisas É elas não terem sentido oculto nenhum, É mais estranho do que todas as estranhezas E do que os sonhos de todos os poetas E os pensamentos de todos os filósofos, Que as coisas sejam realmente o que parecem ser E não haja nada que compreender. Sim, eis o que os meus sentidos aprenderam sozinhos:— As coisas não têm significação: têm existência. As coisas são o único sentido oculto das coisas."

"Fingir é conhecer-se."

"Não sou nada. Nunca serei nada. Não posso querer ser nada. À parte isso, tenho em mim todos os sonhos do mundo."

"(Come chocolates, pequena; Come chocolates! Olha que não há mais metafísica no mundo senão chocolates. Olha que as religiões todas não ensinam mais que a confeitaria. Come, pequena suja, come! Pudesse eu comer chocolates com a mesma verdade com que comes! Mas eu penso e, ao tirar o papel de prata, que é de folhas de estanho, Deito tudo para o chão, como tenho deitado a vida.)"

"A metafísica é uma consequência de estar mal disposto."

"Ah a frescura na face de não cumprir um dever! Faltar é positivamente estar no campo! Que refúgio o não se poder ter confiança em nós! Respiro melhor agora que passaram as horas dos encontros, Faltei a todos, com uma deliberação do desleixo, Fiquei esperando a vontade de ir para lá, que'eu saberia que não vinha. Sou livre, contra a sociedade organizada e vestida. Estou nu, e mergulho na água da minha imaginação. E tarde para eu estar em qualquer dos dois pontos onde estaria à mesma hora, Deliberadamente à mesma hora... Está bem, ficarei aqui sonhando versos e sorrindo em itálico. É tão engraçada esta parte assistente da vida! Até não consigo acender o cigarro seguinte... Se é um gesto, Fique com os outros, que me esperam, no desencontro que é a vida."

"A morte é a curva da estrada, Morrer é só não ser visto. Se escuto, eu te oiço a passada Existir como eu existo.'A terra é feita de céu. A mentira não tem ninho. Nunca ninguém se perdeu. Tudo é verdade e caminho."

"O poeta é um fingidor. Finge tão completamente Que chega a fingir que é dor A dor que deveras sente."

"Para ser grande, sê inteiro: nada Teu exagera ou exclui. Sê todo em cada coisa. Põe quanto és No mínimo que fazes. Assim em cada lago a lua toda Brilha, porque alta vive."

"Vem sentar-te comigo, Lídia, à beira do rio. Sossegadamente fitemos o seu curso e aprendamos Que a vida passa, e não estamos de mãos enlaçadas. (Enlacemos as mãos) ..... Desenlacemos as mãos, porque não vale a pena cansarmo-nos. Quer gozemos, quer não gozemos, passamos como o rio. Mais vale saber passar silenciosamente E sem desassossegos grandes."

"O meu coração é um pouco maior que o universo inteiro."

"O amor é que é essencial. O sexo é só um acidente."

"Sê plural como o universo!"

"O coração, se pudesse pensar, pararia."

"O meu passado é tudo quanto não consegui ser."

"Não há nenhuma ideia inteligente que possa ganhar aceitação geral sem ser misturada antes com um pouco de estupidez."

"Nunca amamos ninguém. Amamos, tão-somente, a ideia que fazemos de alguém. É a um conceito nosso – em suma, é a nós mesmos – que amamos."

"A literatura é a maneira mais agradável de ignorar a vida."

"Repudiei sempre que me compreendessem. Ser compreendido é prostituir-se. Prefiro ser tomado a sério como o que não sou, ignorado humanamente, com decência e naturalidade."

"Os sentimentos que mais doem, as emoções que mais pungem, são os que são absurdos – a ânsia de coisas impossíveis, precisamente porque são impossíveis, a saudade do que nunca houve, o desejo do que poderia ter sido, a mágoa de não ser outro, a insatisfação da existência do mundo. Todos estes meios tons da consciencia da alma criam em nós uma paisagem dolorida, um eterno sol-pôr do que somos."

"A liberdade é a possibilidade do isolamento... Se te é impossível viver só, nasceste escravo."

"Começo a conhecer-me. Não existo. Sou o intervalo entre o que desejo ser e os outros me fizeram."

"I know not what tomorrow will bring"

"The Gods sell when they give. Glory is paid for with disgrace. Poor are the happy, for they are Just what passes."

"Myth is the nothing that is everything."

"All beginnings are involuntary."

"Against destiny I fulfilled my duty . Uselessly? No, for I fulfilled it."

"Clear in thinking, and clear in feeling, and clear in wanting"

"Faithful to the word given and the idea had. All else is up to God!"

"Without madness what is man more than the healthy beast, corpse adjourned that procreates?"

"God wills, man dreams, the work is born."

"The sea is fulfilled, and the Empire fell apart. Lord, Portugal must yet fulfill itself!"

"The sea with an end can be Greek or Roman: the endless sea is Portuguese."

"The blighter that is at the end of the sea On the pitch-black night raised itself flying; Round the vessel it flew three times, Three times it flew creaking, And said, 'Who dared pierce Into my dens that I do not reveal, My black ceilings of the end of the world?' And the helmsman said, trembling, 'His Majesty King John the Second!Whose sails are these then which I rub against? Whose the keels I see and hear?' Said the blighter, and rolled three times, Three times it rolled filthy and bulky, 'Who attempts what is solely my power, I who abide where no one ever could see me And who drip the fears of the depthless sea?' And the helmsman trembled, and said, 'His Majesty King John the Second!'Three times he raised his hands from the helm, Three times he had them rooted on the helm, And said after trembling three times, 'Here at the helm I am more than myself: I am a People who wants the sea that is yours; And more than the blighter, that my soul fears And rolls on the darkness of the end of the world, Orders the will, that ties me at the helm, Of His Majesty King John the Second!'"

"Here lies, on the small farthest beach, the Captain of the End."

"Oh salty sea, how much of your salt are tears of Portugal!"

"Was it worthwhile? Everything is worthwhile if the soul is not small."

"Who wants to go beyond the Bojador Must go beyond pain."

"God gave the sea the danger and the abyss, but it was in it that He mirrored the sky."

"Pity him who lives at home Happy with his life, Without a dream, a flexing of wings, To make him relinquish Even the warmest ember of his hearth!Pity him who is happy! He lives because life lasts. Nothing within him whispers More than the primeval law: That life leads to the grave."

"These are Fortunate Islands, These are lands without a place"

"Oh Portugal, today you are fog... The Hour has come!"

"He looked about thirty, thin, rather above average height, exaggeratedly bent over when seated but less so when he stood up, dressed with a certain negligence, which was not entirely negligence. On his pale, uninteresting face an air of suffering did not stir interest, although it was difficult to define what kind of suffering that air — it seemed to suggest several kinds: privation, anguish, and a suffering born from the indifference of having suffered a great deal."

"Walking on these streets, until the night falls, my life feels to me like the life they have. By day they’re full of meaningless activity; by night, they’re full of meaningless lack of it. By day I am nothing, and by night I am I. There is no difference between me and these streets, save they being streets and I a soul, which perhaps is irrelevant when we consider the essence of things."

"Whether or not they exist, we're slaves to the gods."

"… And I, who timidly hate life, fear death with fascination. I fear this nothingness that could be something else, and I fear it as nothing and as something else simultaneously, as if gross horror and non-existence could coincide there, as if my coffin could entrap the eternal breathing of a bodily soul, as if immortality could be tormented by confinement. The idea of hell, which only a satanic soul could have invented seems to me to have derived from this sort of confusion - a mixture of two different fears that contradict and contaminate each other."

"I think of life as an inn where I have to stay until the abyss coach arrives. I don't know where it will take me, for I know nothing."

"Every day things happen in the world that cannot be explained by any law of things we know. Every day they're mentioned and forgotten, and the same mystery that brought them takes them away, transforming their secret into oblivion. Such is the law by which things that can't be explained must be forgotten. The visible world goes on as usual in the broad daylight. Otherness watches us from the shadows."

"Having touched Christ's feet is not an excuse for punctuation mistakes."

"Strength without agility is a mere mass."

"There are those that even God exploits, and they are prophets and saints in the vacuousness of the world."

"I come closer to my desk as to a bulwark against life."

"We are two abysses — a well staring at the sky."

"A tedium that includes only the anticipation of more tedium; the regret, now, of tomorrow regretting having regretted today."

"The train slows down, it's the Cais do Sodré. I arrived to Lisbon, but not to a conclusion."

"We become sphynxes, though fake, up to the point we no longer know who we are."

"Fraternity has subtleties."

"I believe that saying a thing is to keep its virtues and take away its terror."

"I have now so many fundamental thoughts, so many really metaphysical things to say, that I suddenly get tired and decide not to write more, not to think more, but allow the fever of saying to make me sleepy, and fondle, with closed eyes, as if to a cat, all that I could have said."

"I'm all those things, even though I don't want to, in the confuse depth of my fatal sensibility."

"I sleep and I unsleep. On the other side of me, beyond where I lie down, the silence of the house touches infinity. I hear time falling, drop by drop, and no falling drop is heard falling."

"The house clock, place certain there at the bottom of things, strikes the half hour dry and null. All is so much, all is so deep, all is so dark and cold!"

"I pass times, I pass silences, formless worlds pass me by."

"Everything was asleep as if the universe was a mistake."

"Not pleasure, not glory, not power: freedom, only freedom."

"Changing from the ghosts of faith to the spectres of reason is just changing cells."

"Thing thrown to a corner, rag fallen on the road, my ignoble being feigns itself in front of life."

"It was just a moment, and I saw myself. Then I no longer could say what I was."

"As we wash our body so we should wash destiny, change life as we change clothes."

"There's a tiredness of abstract intelligence, and it's the most horrible of tirednesses. It doesn't weight on you like the tiredness of the body, nor does it worry you like the tiredness of knowledge and emotion. It's a weightiness of the conscience of the world, an inability of the soul to breathe."

"Then a overflowing desire comes to me, absurd, of a sort of satanism before Satan, in that one day [...] an escape out of God can be found and the deepest of us stops, I don't know how, to be a part of being or not being."

"To stagnate in the sun, goldenly, like an obscure lake surrounded by flowers."

"For I am the size of what I see not my height's size."

"In order to understand, I destroyed myself."

"Solitude desolates me; company oppresses me."

"Yes, talking to people makes me sleepy."

"The idea of any social obligation [...] just the idea of it embarasses my thoughts for a day, and sometimes it's since the day before that I worry, and don't sleep well, and the real affair, when it happens, is absolutely insignificant and justifies nothing; and the case repeats itself and I never learn to learn."

"The beauty of a naked body is felt only by the dressed races."

"What is a disease is wishing with an equal intensity what is needed and what is desirable, and suffer for not being perfect as you would suffer for not having bread. The romantic error is this wanting the moon as if there was a way to get it."

"I take with me the conscience of defeat as a victory banner."

"It is noble to be shy, illustrious not to know how to act, great not to have a gift for living."

"Blessed are those who never entrust their life to no one."

"Everyone has his vanity, and each one's vanity is his forgetting that there are others with an equal soul."

"I reread? I lied! I don't dare to reread. I cannot reread. What's the point, for me, in rereading?"

"Civilization consists in giving something an unfitting name, then dream about the result. And indeed the false name and the real dream create a new reality. The object really becomes another, because we turned it into another one. We manufacture realities."

"The consciousness of life's unconsciousness is intelligence's oldest tax."

"A sort of anteneurosis of what I will be when I will not longer be freezes my body and soul. A kind of remembrance of my future death makes me shudder from the inside."

"What, I believe, produces in me the deep feeling, in which I live, of incongruity with others, is that most think with sensitivity, while I feel with thought."

"You breathe better when you're rich."

"I never go to where's a risk. I'm frightened of dangers down to boredom."

"Some sensations are sleeps that take up all the extent of the mind like a fog, don't let us think, don't let us act, don't let us be clearly."

"My joy is as painful as my pain."

"Between me and life is a faint glass. No matter how sharply I see and understand life, I cannot touch it."

"My dreams are a stupid refuge, like an umbrella against a thunderbolt."

"My life is as if you've hit me with it."

"If we knew the truth, we'd see it; all else is system and outskirts."

"They bring me faith like a closed package in someone else's plate. They want me to accept it so that I don't open it."

"The superiority of the dreamer is that dreaming is much more practical than living, and that the dreamer extracts from life a much vaster and varied pleasure than the action man. In better and more direct words, the dreamer is the real action man."

"I never meant to be but a dreamer."

"There's no regret more painful than the regret of things that never were."

"I always live in the present. The future I can't know. The past I no longer have."

"The supreme empire is that of the Emperor who renounces all normal life, that of other men, and in who the care of supremacy doesn't weigh like a load of jewels."

"I will be what I want. But I will have to want what I'll be. Success is in having success, not conditions for success."

"To act is to rest."

"All problems are unsolvable. The essence of the existence of a problem is that there is no solution. Looking for a fact means there is no fact. To think is not to know how to be."

"His livid face is a bewildered false green. I notice it, between the chest's hard air, with the fraternity of knowing I will also be so."

"We never love someone. We just love the idea we have of someone. It's a concept of ours - summing up, ourselves - that we love."

"To write is to forget. Literature is the pleasantest way of ignoring life."

"Being pleased with what they give you is proper of slaves. Asking for more is proper of children. Conquering more is proper of fools."

"To be understood is to prostitute yourself."

"I search and can't find myself. I belong in chrysanthemum time, sharp in calla lily elongations. God made my soul into an ornamental thing."

"'Any road', said Carlyle, 'even this road to Entepfuhl, will take you to the end of the world'. But the Entepfuhl road, if taken in its entirety, and to the end, goes back to Entepfuhl; so Entepfuhl, where we already were, is that very end of the world we were seeking."

"It's been a long time since I've been me."

"Inside the henhouse from where he will be taken to be killed, the cock sings hymns to liberty because he was given two perches."

"What's most worthless about dreams is that everybody has them."

"The end is low, like all quantitative ends, personal or not, and it can be attained and verified."

"The perfect man of pagans was the perfection of the man there is; the perfect man of christians, the perfection of the man there isn't; the buddhists' perfect man, the perfection of not existing a man."

"Nature is the difference between the soul and God."

"There is no safe standard to tell man from animals."

"Irony is the first hint that consciousness became conscious."

"Who am I to myself? Just a feeling of mine."

"I will necessarily say what it seems to me, given that I'm me."

"Direct experience is the evasion, or hiding place of those devoid of imagination."

"Action men are the unvoluntary slaves of wise men."

"To narrate is to create, for living is just being lived."

"I never cared about whatever tragic event happened in China. It's faraway decoration, even if in blood and plague."

"The slope takes you to the windmill, but effort takes you nowhere."

"Destiny gave me only two things: a few accounting books and the gift of dreaming."

"In today's life, the world belongs only to the stupid, the insensitive and the agitated. The right to live and triumph is now conquered almost by the same means by which you conquer internment in an asylum: the inability to think, amorality and hiperexcitation."

"What is art but the denial of life?"

"Common man, no matter how hard life is to him, at least has the fortune of not thinking it."

"To think is to destroy. The very process of thought indicates it for the same thought, as thinking is decomposing."

"I sometimes think, with a sad delight, that if one day, in a future I no longer belong to, these sentences, that I write, last with praise, I will at last have the people who understand me, those mine, the true family to be born in and be loved. [...] I will only be understood in effigy, when affection no longer repays the dead the unaffection that was, when living."

"Enthusiasm is rude."

"My God, my God, who am I attending to? How many am I? Who is me? What is this interval between me and me?"

"Being a retired major looks like an ideal thing to me. What a pity you couldn't eternally have been just a retired major."

"My curiosity sister of larks."

"If a man can only write well when drunk, I'll tell him: get drunk. And if he tells me that his liver suffers with it, I'll answer: what's your liver? It's a dead thing that lives as long as you live, and the poems you'll write will live without a as long as."

"My homeland is the portuguese language."

"Art consists in making others feel what we feel."

"Art lies because it's social."

"Tedium is the lack of a mithology. To whom has no beliefs, even doubt is impossible, even skepticism has no strength to suspect."

"Smell is a strange sight. It evokes sentimental landscapes through a sudden sketching of the subconscious."

"Deceiving himself well is the first quality of the statesman."

"It's certain that, when hearing from any of those people the story of their sexual marathons, a vague suspicion pervades us, at about the seventh deflowering."

"Liberty is the possibility of isolation."

"If you cannot live alone, you were born a slave."

"And let our despite go to those who work and fight and our hate to those who hope and trust."

"We adore perfection because we can't have it; it would disgust us if we had it. Perfect is inhuman, because human is imperfect."

"If I had written King Lear, I would regret it all my life afterwards. Because that work is so big, that its defects show as huge, its monstrous defects, things even minimal in between some scenes and their possible perfection. It's not the sun with spots; it's a broken greek statue."

"For valuing your own suffering sets on it the gold of a sun of pride. Suffering a lot can originate the illusion of being the Chosen of Pain."

"Everything is absurd."

"The world belongs to who doesn't feel. The primary condition to be a practical man is the absence of sensitivity."

"What would happen to the world if we were human?"

"Who doesn't feel commands. He who only thinks what is required in order to win, wins."

"Sailing is necessary, living is not necessary."

"All pleasure is a vice, for seeking pleasure is what everybody does in life, and the only dark vice is doing what everybody does."

"I'm upset by the happiness of all these men who don't know they're unhappy. [...] Because of that, though, I love them all. Dear vegetables!"

"For the moment being, given that we live in society, the only duty of superior men is to reduce to a minimum their participation in the tribe's life. Not to read newspapers, or read them only to know about whatever unimportant and curious is going on. [...] The supreme honorable state for a superior man is in not knowing who is the Head of State of his country, or if he lives under a monarchy or a republic. All his attitude must be setting his soul so that the passing of things, of events doesn't bother him. If he doesn't do it he will have to take an interest in others in order to take care of himself."

"Wasting time has an esthetics to it."

"I never was but an isolated bon vivant, which is absurd; or a mystic bon vivant, which is an impossible thing."

"It's in an inland sea that the river of my life ended."

"Every gesture is a revolutionary act."

"Knowing not to have illusions is absolutely necessary in order to have dreams."

"Why is art beautiful? Because it's useless. Why is life ugly? Because it's all ends and purposes and intentions."

"And the supreme glory of all this, my love, is to think that maybe this isn't true, neither may I believe it true.And when lying starts giving us pleasure, let's speak the truth so that we lie to it."

"My head and the universe ache me."

"Yet I have no stylistic nobility. My head aches because my head aches. The universe aches me because my head aches."

"Given that we cannot know all the elements in a problem, we never can solve it."

"I don't believe in the landscape."

"I say it because I don't believe."

"When I write, I solemnly visit myself."

"Life is a thread that someone entangled."

"They were two and beautiful and wanted to be something else; love delayed itself to them in the tedium of the future, and regret of what would happen to be was already being the daughter of the love they hadn't had."

"Only sterility is noble and dignified. Only killing what never was is elevated and perverse and absurd."

"I exempt you of being present in my idea of you."

"That's not my love; that's just your life."

"And as well as I dream, I reason if I want, for that's just another kind of dream."

"There is no happiness without knowledge. But knowledge of happiness is unhappy; for knowing ourselves happy is knowing ourselves passing through happiness, and having to, immediatly at once, leave it behind. To know is to kill, in happiness as in everything. Not to know, though, is not to exist."

"I don't write in Portuguese. I write myself."

"To travel? In order to travel it's enough to be. [...] Why travel? In Madrid, in Berlin, in Persia, in China, at the Poles both, where would I be but in myself, and in the sort and kind of my sensations?Life is what we make of it. Travels are travellers. What we see is not what we see but what we are."

"I'd like to be in the country so that I'd could like being in the city."

"Man shouldn't be able to see his own face. That's what's most terrible. Nature gave him the possibility of not seeing it, as well as the incapacity of not seeing his own eyes."

"In any spirit that isn't deformed there is the belief in God. In any spirit that is not deformed there isn't the belief in a particular God."

"I'm a man for whom the outside world is an inner reality."

"Humanitarianism is rude."

"Property isn't theft: it's nothing."

"To have defined and sure opinions, fixed and known instincts, passions and character — all that is the horror of turning our soul into a fact, materialize it and make it external."

"We’ve been devastated by the severest and deadliest drought in history – that of our profound awareness of the futility of all effort and the vanity of all plans."

"Since I wasn’t able to leave a succession of beautiful lies, I want to leave the smidgen of truth that the falsehood of everything lets us suppose we can tell."

"These pages are not my confession; they’re my definition. And I feel, as I begin to write it, that I can write it with some semblance of truth."

"There's no greater tragedy than an equal intensity, in the same soul or the same man, of the intellectual sentiment and the moral sentiment. For a man to be utterly and absolutely moral, he has to be a bit stupid. For a man to be absolutely intellectual, he has to be a bit immoral."

"I'm going to end a life that I thought could contain every kind of greatness but that in fact consisted only of my incapacity to really want to be great. Whenever I arrived at a certainty, I remembered that those with the greatest certainties are lunatics."

"Attention to detail and a perfectionist instinct, far from stimulating action, are character qualities that lead to renunciation. Better to dream than to be."

"I belong to a generation - assuming that this generation includes others besides me - that lost its faith in the gods of the old religions as well as in the gods of modern nonreligions. I reject Jehova as I reject humanity."

"At first I felt dizzy - not with the kind of dizziness that makes the body reel but the kind that's like a dead emptiness in the brain, an instinctive awareness of the void."

"Our problem isn't that we're individualists. It's that our individualism is static rather than dynamic. We value what we think rather than what we do. We forget that we haven't done, or been, what we thought; that the first function of life is action, just as the first property of things is motion."

"Imagine if, some day back in the 1950s, an American poet named John Ashbery had not only written a few of his own highly original poems, but in an ecstasy of creative surfeit, had invented three other poets — Kenneth Koch, Frank O'Hara and James Schuyler — and then, over the years, proceeded to write poems as them, even entire books. It sounds fantastic, but it is what Pessoa actually did. Nor was it just a whimsical creative exercise. In The Western Canon, that ultimate literary proving ground, Harold Bloom named Caiero and de Campos as "great poets" in their own right."

"The amazing Portuguese poet... as a fantastic invention surpasses any creation by Borges... Pessoa was neither mad nor a mere ironist; he is Whitman reborn, but a Whitman who gives separate names to "my self," "the real me" or "me myself," and "my soul," and writes wonderful books of poetry for all of them."

"Fernando Pessoa is the extreme example of what may be the essentially modern kind of poet: the objective introvert. None has more consistently tried to find his real self with its multiplicity intact and to keep his poems impersonal. He accepted the dividedness of a human self so completely that he did something unique: wrote poetry under four names – his own and three 'heteronyms'. Not pseudonyms: they are imaginary poets with real poems in them. Fernando Pessoa was four poets in one: Alberto Caeiro, Ricardo Reis, Alvaro de Campos and himself; each strongly distinct from the others. One is soon struck by an external difference between their poems..."

"Pessoa was a poet who wrote poets as well as poems."

"Fernando Pessoa (1888–1935) is one of the great originals of modern European poetry and Portugal's premier modernist. He is also a strange and original writer. Other modernists—Yeats, Pound, Eliot—invented masks through which to speak occasionally, from Michael Robartes to Hugh Selywn Mauberly to J. Alfred Prufock. Pessoa invented whole poets."

"Pessoa's writing, the whole of his extraordinary opus, a major presence in what has come to be known as "modernism" in the European languages... Almost any commentary of any length on Pessoa's writings, sensibility, and imagination is bound to convey a glimpse, at least, of its intensity and elusiveness, its apparently endlessly unfolding hall of mirrors."

"Nada en su vida es sorprendente — nada, excepto sus poemas."

"The man who never was."

"Fernando Pessoa is the least known of the masters of twentieth-century poetry. From his heteronymic passion he produced, if that is the word, two of our greatest poets. Alberto Caeiro and Álvaro de Campos, and a third, Ricardo Reis, who isn't bad. Pessoa is the exemplary poet of the self as other, of the poem as testament to unreality, proclamation of nothingness, occasion for expectancy."

"Fernando Pessoa is the greatest Portuguese poet since Camões, and one of the most complex and astonishing figures of 20th-century literature."

"Pessoa would be Shakespeare if all that we had of Shakespeare were the soliloquies of Hamlet, Falstaff, Othello and Lear and the sonnets. His legacy is a set of explorations, in poetic form, of what it means to inhabit a human consciousness... What makes Pessoa's thought and poetry compelling is not that he picks up and develops the forms and themes of Whitman and Emerson and retransmits our patrimony back to us—though this would be marvelous—but because in the poems and prose he has passed a judgment upon the 20th century rejection of individualism."

"The most profound poet of the twentieth century."

"[Pessoa was] Portugal's greatest writer of the twentieth century [though] some critics would even leave off that last qualifying phrase. [He was] one of the most appealing European modernists, equal in command and range to his contemporaries Rilke and Mandelstam."

"[Pessoa] is the modernist's modernist: an inspired amalgam of Lewis Carroll, Aristophanes, Erasmus, Voltaire (& Co., if you will), whose exquisite mixed praises of human and literary folly create a polyphony unlike any other prose music you've ever heard."

"Eloquent, volatile and obsessed with life – and death – [his] poems place [him] among the modernist giants in whose shadow we live and who made our century one of extraordinary poetic richness."