260 quotes found
"...eu já estava na vigésima parte do livro, triste, quando senti que o livro podia ser escrito. Percebi que só seria capaz de escrevê-lo se o fizesse como se contasse. Não passando para a escrita o chamado discurso oral, porque isso é impossível, mas introduzindo na escrita um me-canismo de aparente prolixidade, aparente desor-ganização do discurso. Digo aparente porque sei o trabalho que me deu fazer de conta que era tudo assim."
"Deus é o silêncio do universo, e o homem o grito que dá um sentido a esse silêncio."
"Le religioni, tutte, senza eccezione, non serviranno mai per avvicinare e riconciliare gli uomini e, al contrario, sono state e continuano a essere causa di sofferenze inenarrabili, di stragi, di mostruose violenze fisiche e spirituali che costituiscono uno dei più tenebrosi capitoli della misera storia umana."
"From literature to ecology, from the escape velocity of galaxies to the greenhouse effect, from garbage disposal methods to traffic jams, everything is discussed in our world. But the democratic system, as if it were a given fact, untouchable by nature until the end of time, we don't discuss that."
"A writer is a man like any other: he dreams. And my dream was to be able to say of this book, when I finished: 'This is a book about Alentejo'."
"Não é a pornografia que é obscena, é a fome que é obscena"
"Um dia, sentado à mesa, pensei: E se fôssemos todos cegos? Imediatamente me veio a resposta: Nós somos todos cegos."
"Sometimes I say that writing a novel is the same as constructing a chair: a person must be able to sit in it, to be balanced on it. If I can produce a great chair, even better. But above all I have to make sure that it has four stable feet."
"Intoxicados mentalmente pela idéia messiânica de um Grande Israel que torne por fim realidade os sonhos expansionistas do sionismo mais radical, contaminados pela monstruosa e arraigada "certeza" de que neste mundo catastrófico e absurdo existe um povo eleito por Deus e, portanto, estão automaticamente justificadas e autorizadas, em nome dos horrores do passado e dos medos de hoje, todas as ações nascidas de um racismo obsessivo, psicológica e patologicamente exclusivista, educados e formados na idéia de que qualquer sofrimento que tenham infligido, inflijam ou venham a infligir aos demais, em especial aos palestinos, sempre será inferior ao que eles padeceram no Holocausto, os judeus arranham sem cessar sua própria ferida para que não deixe de sangrar, para torná-la incurável, e mostram-na ao mundo como se fosse uma bandeira."
"We live in a very peculiar world. Democracy isn't discussed, as if it was taken for granted, as if democracy had taken God's place, who is also not discussed."
"[The Jewish people no longer deserves] sympathy for the suffering it went through during the Holocaust. … Living under the shadows of the Holocaust and willing to be forgiven for anything they do on behalf of what they have suffered seems abusive to me. They didn't learn anything from the suffering of their parents and grandparents."
"The human being should be the absolute priority. It seems it is more important to reach the planet Mars than prevent 13 million Africans dying of hunger. Why would I want to know if there is water on Mars if we are polluting the water here on Earth, or doing nothing to avoid it? Priorities need to be redefined, but there is no chance of this, if we don't confront the need to know what democracy is."
"Nossa maior tragédia é não saber o que fazer com a vida."
"Now we live in the empire of oil and money — the rest is disguise."
"...I'm not able to fear death... We will all turn skeletons and everything shall end. The skeleton becomes, therefore, the most radical form of nudity."
"Yes [death has become a taboo]. Today people want to avoid the subject and hide the deaths that happen around them. It is as if the world were a hotel where the dead usually disappear at night, without any guest being able to notice their presence. While movies and television address death, they do not touch the fundamental point of finitude. The deaths are false, the good guys get shot and come back to life. It's another way of treating death as unreal."
"I'm not pessimistic. It is the world that is terrible. How can we be optimistic in the face of a planet where people live so badly, nature is being destroyed and the dominant empire is money?"
"O universo não tem notícia da nossa existência."
"Doesn't anybody understand that killing in the name of God only makes Him a murderer?"
"If I could repeat my childhood, I would repeat it exactly as it was, with the poverty, the cold, little food, with the flies and pigs, all that."
"Globalization is a form of totalitarianism... It is the rich who rule, and the poor live as they can."
"I write to try to understand, and because I have nothing better to do."
"We humans are, at bottom, carriers of the time, because we take it with us, we use it, sometimes we waste it and sometimes something remains, though everything is doomed to oblivion."
"Eu, no fundo, não invento nada. Sou apenas alguém que se limita a levantar uma pedra e a pôr à vista o que está por baixo. Não é minha culpa se de vez em quando me saem monstros."
"Everything is discussed in this world, except for one thing: democracy. Democracy is not discussed. Democracy is there, as a kind of saint, from whom no miracles are expected, but that is there as a reference: "the democracy"; and we don’t notice that the democracy in which we live in is a kidnapped, conditioned and amputated one, because the power of the citizen, the power of each one of us, is limited, in the political sphere, I repeat, in the political sphere, to removing a government that we don’t like and replacing it by another one that we might come to like. Nothing else. But the important decisions are made in another sphere, and we all know which one it is. The great international financial organizations, the IMFs, the World Trade Organizations, the World Banks, the OECD, all of these... None of these institutions is democratic, so how can we continue to talk about democracy, if those who actually govern the world are not democratically elected by the people? Who chooses the countries' representatives in those institutions? Their respective peoples? No. So where is the democracy?"
"Deep down, the problem is not a God that does not exist, but the religion that proclaims Him. I denounce religions, all religions, as harmful to Humankind. These are harsh words, but one must say them."
"To me, the Bible is a book. Important, no doubt, but a book."
"I think that we do not deserve life, I think that religions have been and continue to be instruments of domination and death."
"There is nothing that is truly free nor democratic enough. Make no mistake, the internet did not come to save the world."
"I believe that I've been asked all possible questions. I, myself, if I were a journalist, would not know what to ask me."
"Death is the inventor of God."
"God, the devil, good, evil, it's all in our heads, not in Heaven or Hell, which we also invented. We do not realize that, having invented God, we immediately became His slaves."
"There are those who deny me the right to speak of God, because I am not a believer. And I say that I have every right in the world. I want to talk about God because it is a problem that affects all humanity."
"O pior da morte é que antes estavas e agora não estás."
"Mas tudo isto pode ser contado doutra maneira."
"In between these four whitewashed walls, on this tiled floor, notice the broken corners, how some tiles have been worn smooth, how many feet have passed this way, and look how interesting this trail of ants is, travelling along the joins as if they were valleys, while up above, projected against the white sky of the ceiling and the sun of the lamp, tall towers are moving, they are men, as the ants well know, having, for generations, experienced the weight of their feet and the long, hot spout of water that falls from a kind of pendulous external intestine, ants all over the world have been drowned or crushed by these, but it seems they will escape this fate now, for the men are occupied with other things. [...] Let's take this ant, or, rather, let's not, because that would involve picking it up, let us merely consider it, because it is one of the larger ones and because it raises its head like a dog, it's walking along very close to the wall, together with its fellow ants it will have time to complete its long journey ten times over between the ants' nest and whatever it is that it finds so interesting, curious or perhaps merely nourishing in this secret room [...]. One of the men has fallen to the ground, he's on the same level as the ants now, we don't know if he can see them, but they see him, and he will fall so often that, in the end, they will know by heart his face, the color of his hair and eyes, the shape of his ear, the dark arc of his eyebrow, the faint shadow at the corner of his mouth, and later, back in the ants' nest, they will weave long stories for the enlightenment of future generations, because it is useful for the young to know what happens out there in the world. The man fell and the others dragged him to his feet again, shouting at him, asking two different questions at the same time, how could he possibly answer them even if he wanted to, which is not the case, because the man who fell and was dragged to his feet will die without saying a word. Only moans will issue from his mouth, and in the silence of his soul only deep sighs, and even when his teeth are broken and he has to spit them out, which will prompt the other two men to hit him again for soiling state property, even then the sound will be of spitting and nothing more, that unconscious reflex of the lips, and then the dribble of saliva thickened with blood that falls to the floor, thus stimulating the taste buds of the ants, who telegraph from one to the other news of this singularly red manna fallen from such a white heaven. The man fell again. It's the same one, said the ants, the same ear shape, the same arc of eyebrow, the same shadow at the corner of the mouth, there's no mistaking him, why is it that it is always the same man who falls, why doesn't he defend himself, fight back. [...] The ants are surprised, but only fleetingly. After all, they have their own duties, their own timetables to keep, it is quite enough that they raise their heads like dogs and fix their feeble vision on the fallen man to check that he is the same one and not some new variant in the story. The larger ant walked along the remaining stretch of wall, slipped under the door, and some time will pass before it reappears to find everything changed, well, that's just a manner of speaking, there are still three men there, but the two who do not fall never stop moving, it must be some kind of game, there's no other explanation [...]. [T]hey grab him by the shoulders and propel him willy-nilly in the direction of the wall, so that sometimes he hits his back, sometimes his head, or else his poor bruised face smashes into the whitewash and leaves on it a trace of blood, not a lot, just whatever spurts forth from his mouth and right eyebrow. And if they leave him there, he, not his blood, slides down the wall and he ends up kneeling on the ground, beside the little trail of ants, who are startled by the sudden fall from on high of that great mass, which doesn't, in the end, even graze them. And when he stays there for some time, one ant attaches itself to his clothing, wanting to take a closer look, the fool, it will be the first ant to die, because the next blow falls on precisely that spot, the ant doesn't feel the second blow, but the man does."
"Além da conversa das mulheres, são os sonhos que seguram o mundo na sua órbita. Mas são também os sonhos que lhe fazem uma coroa de luas, por isso o céu é o resplendor que há dentro da cabeça dos homens, se não é a cabeça dos homens o próprio e único céu."
"Voando a máquina, todo o céu será música."
"Abençoem-se antes um ao outro, é quanto basta, pudessem ser todas as bênçãos como essa."
"Em profunda escuridão se procuraram, nus, sôfrego entrou nela, ela o recebeu ansiosa, depois a sofreguidão dela, a ânsia dele, enfim os corpos encontrados, os movimentos, a voz que vem do ser profundo, aquele que não tem voz, o grito nascido, prolongado, interrompido, o soluço seco, a lágrima inesperada, e a máquina a tremer, a vibrar, porventura não está já na terra, rasgou a cortina de silvas e enleios, pairou no alto da noite, entre as nuvens, pesa o corpo dele sobre o dela, e ambos pesam sobre a terra, afinal estão aqui, foram e voltaram."
"Todo o romance é isso, desespero, intento frustrado de que o passado não seja coisa definitivamente perdida. Só não se acabou ainda de averiguar se é o romance que impede o homem de esquecer-se ou se é a impossibilidade do esquecimento que o leva a escrever romances."
"O meu problema, nesta situação, é saber se já deveria ter corado antes, ou se é agora que devo corar, Lembro-me de a ter visto corar uma vez, Quando, Quando toquei na rosa que estava no seu gabinete, As mulheres coram mais que os homens, somos o sexo frágil, Ambos os sexos são frágeis, eu também corei, Sabe assim tanto da fragilidade dos sexos, Sei da minha própria fragilidade, e alguma coisa da dos outros."
"Orientamo-nos por normas geradas segundo consensos, e domínios, mete-se pelos olhos dentro que variando o domínio varia o consenso, Não deixas saída, Porque não há saída, vivemos num quarto fechados e pintamos o mundo e o universo nas paredes dele."
"O filho de José e de Maria nasceu como todos os filhos dos homens, sujo de sangue de sua mãe, viscoso das suas mucosidades e sofrendo em silêncio. Chorou porque o fizeram chorar, e chorará por esse mesmo e único motivo."
"Então Jesus voltou lentamente o rosto para ela e disse. Não conheço mulher. Maria segurou-lhe as mãos, Assim temos de começar todos, homens que não conheciam mulher, mulheres que não conheciam homem, um dia o que sabia ensinou, o que não sabia aprendeu."
"Ninguém na vida teve tantos pecados que mereça morrer duas vezes."
"Jesus compreendeu que viera trazido ao engano como se leva o cordeiro ao sacrifício, que a sua vida fora traçada para morrer assim desde o princípio dos princípios, e, subindo-lhe à lembrança o rio de sangue e de sofrimento que do seu lado irá nascer e alagar toda a terra, clamou para o céu aberto onde Deus sorria, Homens perdoai-lhe porque ele não sabe o que fez."
"Perhaps it is the language that chooses the writers it needs, making use of them so that each might express a tiny part of what it is."
"To hope, Hope in what, Hope, just hope, one reaches a point where there is nothing but hope, and that is when we discover that hope is everything."
"A man must read widely, a little of everything or whatever he can, but given the shortness of life and the verbosity of the world, not too much should be demanded of him. Let him begin with those titles no one should omit, commonly referred to as books for learning, as if not all books were for learning, and this list will vary according to the fount of knowledge one drinks from and the authority that monitors its flow."
"O destino é a ordem suprema, a que os próprios deuses aspiram, E os homens, que papel vem a ser o dos homens, Perturbar a ordem, corrigir o destino, Para melhor, Para melhor ou para pior, tanto faz, o que é preciso é impedir que o destino seja destino."
"The possibility of the impossible, dreams and illusions, are the subject of my novels."
"So often we need a whole lifetime in order to change our life, we think a great deal, weigh things up and vacillate, then we go back to the beginning, we think and think, we displace ourselves on the tracks of time with a circular movement, like those clouds of dust, dead leaves, debris, that have no strength for anything more, better by far that we should live in a land of hurricanes."
"Privatize-se tudo, privatize-se o mar e o céu, privatize-se a água e o ar, privatize-se a justiça e a lei, privatize-se a nuvem que passa, privatize-se o sonho, sobretudo se for diurno e de olhos abertos. E finalmente, para florão e remate de tanto privatizar, privatizem-se os Estados, entregue-se por uma vez a exploração deles a empresas privadas, mediante concurso internacional. Aí se encontra a salvação do mundo... e, já agora, privatize-se também a puta que os pariu a todos."
"Se podes olhar, vê. Se podes ver, repara."
"Some drivers have already got out of their cars, prepared to push the stranded vehicle to a spot where it will not hold up the traffic, they beat furiously on the closed windows, the man inside turns his head in their direction, first to one side then to the other, he is clearly shouting something, to judge by the movements of his mouth he appears to be repeating some words, no one word but three, as turns out to be the case when someone finally manages to open the door, I am blind."
"That night the blind man dreamt that he was blind."
"The sceptics, who are many and stubborn, claim that, when it comes to human nature, if it is true that the opportunity does not always make the thief, it is also true that it helps a lot."
"Blindness is a private matter between a person and the eyes with which he or she was born."
"This is the stuff we're made of, half indifference and half malice."
"How are you, doctor, that is what we say when we do not wish to play the weakling, we say Fine, even though we may be dying, and this is commonly known as taking one's courage in both hands, a phenomenon that has only been observed in the human species."
"Se não formos capazes de viver inteiramente como pessoas, ao menos façamos tudo para não viver inteiramente como animais."
"Perhaps only in a world of the blind will things be what they truly are."
"A mulher do médico vai lendo os letreiros das ruas, lembra-se de uns, de outros não, e chega um momento em que compreende que se desorientou e perdeu. Não há dúvida, está perdida. Deu uma volta, deu outra, já não reconhece nem a ruas nem os nomes delas, então, desesperada, deixou-se cair no chão sujíssimo, empapado de lama negra, e, vazia de forças, de todas as forças, desatou a chorar. Os cães rodearam-na, farejam os sacos, mas sem convicção, como se já lhes tivesse passado a hora de comer, um deles lambe-lhe a cara, talvez desde pequeno tenha sido habituado a enxugar pratos. A mulher toca-lhe na cabeça, passa-lhe a mão pelo lombo encharcado, e o resto das lágrimas chora-as abraçada a ele."
"Dentro de nós há uma coisa que não tem nome, essa coisa é o que somos."
"The difficult thing isn't living with other people, it's understanding them."
"Blind people do not need a name, I am my voice, nothing else matters."
"If I'm sincere today, what does it matter if I regret it tomorrow?"
"Do you want me to tell you what I think, Yes, do, I don't think we did go blind, I think we are blind, Blind but seeing, Blind people who can see, but do not see."
"You know the name you were given, You do not know the name you have"
"The distribution of tasks among the various employees follows a simple rule, which is that the duty of the members of each category is to do as much work as they possibly can, so that only a small part of that work need be passed to the category above. This means that the clerks are obliged to work without cease from morning to night, whereas the senior clerks do so only now and then, the deputies very rarely, and the Registrar almost never."
"The caressing, melodious tones of humility and flattery never sang in the ears of the clerk Senhor José, these have never had a place in the chromatic scale of feelings normally shown to him."
"[...], indeed nothing so tires a person as having to struggle, not with himself, but with an abstraction."
"None of his colleagues noticed who had arrived, they responded to his greetings as they always did, Good morning, Senhor José, they said and they did not know to whom they were speaking."
"[...], perhaps that's how you learn, by answering questions."
"No, there are three people in a marriage, there's the woman, there's the man, and there's what I call the third person, the most important, the person who is composed of the man and woman together."
"Consciences keep silence more often than they should, that's why laws were created."
"The bread was dry and hard, only a scraping of butter was left, he was out of milk, all he had was some rather mediocre coffee, as we know, a man who had never found a woman who would love him enough to agree to join him in this hovel, such a man, apart from rare exceptions which have no place in this story, will never be more than a poor devil, it's odd that we always say poor devil and never poor god, [...]"
"uma escuridão parada à espera, espessa e silenciosa como o fundo do mar"
"[...] the skin is only what we want others to see of us, underneath it not even we know who we are, [...]"
"One might ask why Senhor José needs a hundred-yard-long piece of string if the length of the Central Registry, despite successive extensions, is no more than eighty. That is the question of a person who imagines that one can do everything in life simply by following a straight line, that it is always possible to proceed from one place to another by the shortest route, perhaps some people in the outside world believe that they have done so, but here, where the living and the dead share the same space, sometimes, in order to find one of them, you have to make a lot of twists and turns, you have to skirt round mountains of bundles, columns of files, piles of cards, thickets of ancient remains, you have to walk down dark gulleys, between walls of grubby paper which, up above, actually touch, yards and yards of string will have to be unravelled, left behind, like a sinuous, subtle trail traced in the dust, there is no other way of knowing where you have to go next, there is no other way of finding your way back."
"[...], old photographs are very deceiving, they give us the illusion that we are alive in them, and it's not true, the person we are looking at no longer exists, and if that person could see us, he or she would not recognise him or herself in us, Who's that looking at me so sadly, he or she would say."
"No life is without its lies."
"when you are old and realize that time is running out, you start imagining that you have the cure for all the ills of the world in your hand, and get frustrated because no one pays you any attention,"
"In order to protect the physical hygiene and mental health of the living, we usually bury the dead."
"What the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over."
"That it’s possible not to see a lie even when it’s in front of us."
"The wisest man I ever knew in my whole life could not read or write. At four o'clock in the morning, when the promise of a new day still lingered over French lands, he got up from his pallet and left for the fields, taking to pasture the half-dozen pigs whose fertility nourished him and his wife..."
"This Jerónimo, my grandfather, swineherd and story-teller, feeling death about to arrive and take him, went and said goodbye to the trees in the yard, one by one, embracing them and crying because he knew he wouldn't see them again."
"As I could not and did not aspire to venture beyond my little plot of cultivated land, all I had left was the possibility of digging down, underneath, towards the roots. My own but also the world's, if I can be allowed such an immoderate ambition."
"Blind. The apprentice thought, "we are blind", and he sat down and wrote Blindness to remind those who might read it that we pervert reason when we humiliate life, that human dignity is insulted every day by the powerful of our world, that the universal lie has replaced the plural truths, that man stopped respecting himself when he lost the respect due to his fellow-creatures."
"Forgive me if what has seemed little to you, to me is all."
"Nobody performs her or his duties. Governments do not, because they do not know, they are not able or they do not wish, or because they are not permitted by those who effectively govern the world: The multinational and pluricontinental companies whose power — absolutely non-democratic — reduce to next to nothing what is left of the ideal of democracy. We citizens are not fulfilling our duties either. Let us think that no human rights will exist without symmetry of the duties that correspond to them. It is not to be expected that governments in the next 50 years will do it. Let us common citizens therefore speak up. With the same vehemence as when we demanded our rights, let us demand responsibility over our duties. Perhaps the world could turn a little better."
"Nem a juventude sabe o que pode nem a velhice pode o que sabe."
"He got out of the van to see how many other suppliers were ahead of him and thus calculate, more or less accurately, how long he would have to wait. He was number thirteen, he counted again, no, there was no doubt about it. Although he was not a suspirations person, he knew about that number’s bad reputation, in any conversation about chance, fate or destiny, someone always chips in with some real-life experience of the negative, even fatal influence of the number thirteen. He tried to remember if he had ever been in this place in the queue before, but the long and the short of it was that either it had never happened or else he had simply forgotten. he got annoyed with himself, it was nonsense, utterly absurd to worry about something that has no real existence, yes, that was right, he had never thought of that before, numbers don’t really exist, things couldn’t care less what number we give them, its all the same to them if we say they’re number thirteen or number forty-four, we can conclude, at the very least, that they do not even notice the position they happen to end up in. people aren’t things, people always want to be in first place,"
"Destiny isn’t taken in by people trying to make what came first come afterwards."
"There comes a point when the confused or abused person hears a voice saying in his head, Oh well, might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, and, depending on the particular situation in which he finds him he either spends his last bit of money on a lottery ticket, or places on the gaming table the watch he inherited from his father and silver cigarette case that was a gift from his mother, or bets everything he has on red even though he knows that red has come up five times in a row,"
"Even the strongest spirits have the moments of irresistible weakness,"
"We would know far more about life’s complexities if we applied ourselves to the close study of its contradictions instead of wasting so much time on similarities and connections, which should anyway, be self-explanatory."
"There is relationship between sight and touch, something about eyes being able to see through the fingers touching the clay, about fingers being able to feel what the eyes are seeing without the fingers actually touching it."
"Earthenware is like people, it needs to be well treated."
"The only time we can talk about death is while we’re alive, not afterwards."
"A vida é assim, está cheia de palavras que não valem a pena, ou que valeram e já não valem, cada uma que ainda formos dizendo tirará o lugar a outra mais merecedora, que o seria não tanto por si mesma, mas pelas consequências de tê-la dito."
"I don’t doubt that a man can live perfectly well on his own, but I’m convinced that he begins to die as soon as he closes the door of his house behind him."
"He spent the whole time sitting on a log in the woodshed, sometimes starting straight ahead with the fixity of a blind man who knows that even if he turns his head in the other direction he will still not see anything,"
"At this time of life even a day makes a difference, the only saving grace is that sometimes things improve."
"Where do begin, he asked, Where you always have to begin, at the beginning,"
"Authoritarian, paralyzing, circular, occasionally elliptical, stock phrases, also jocularly referred to as nuggets of wisdom, are malignant plague, one of the very worst ever to ravage the earth. We say to the confused, Know thyself, as if knowing yourself was not the fifth and most difficult of human arithmetical operations, we say to the apathetic, Where there’s a will, there’s a way, as if the brute realities of the world did not amuse themselves each day by turning that phrase on its head, we say to the indecisive, Begin at the beginning, as if that beginning were the clearly visible point of a loosely wound thread and that all we had to do was to keep pulling until we reached the other end, and as if, between the former and the latter, we had held in our hands a smooth, continuous thread with no knots to untie, no snarled to untangle, a complete impossibility in the life of a skien, or indeed, if we may be permitted on more stock phrase, in the skien of life. … These are the delusions of the pure and unprepared, the beginning is never the clear, precise end of a thread, the beginning is a long, painfully slow process that requires time and patience in order to find out in which direction it is heading, a process that feels its way along the path ahead like a blind man, the beginning is just the beginning, what came before is nigh on worthless."
"Encyclopedias are like immutable cycloramas, prodigious projectors whose reels have got stuck and which show, with a kind of maniacal fixity, a landscape which, because it is condemned to be only and for all eternity what it was, will at the same time grow older more decrepit and more unnecessary.The encyclopedia purchased by Cipriano Algor's father is magnificent and as useless as a line of poetry we cannot quite remember."
"(a picture of)a naked woman, although she was covering her pubis with her right hand and her breasts with her left._ _ _ _ covering yourself up like that is worse than showing everything,"
"You can learn almost everything from reading, But I read too, So you must know something, Now I’m not so sure, You’ll have to read differently then, How, The same method doesn’t work for everyone, each person has to invent his or her own, whichever suits them best, some people spend their entire lives reading but never get beyond reading the words on the page, they don’t understand that the words are merely stepping stones placed across a fast-flowing river, and the reason they’re there is so that we can reach the farther shore, it’s the other side that matters, Unless, Unless what, Unless those river don’t just have two shores but many, unless each reader is his or own shore, and that shore is the only shore worth reaching,"
"In general, fakirs, like scribes and potters, are sitting down, when he’s standing up, a fakir is just like an other man, and sitting down, he’ll be smaller than the others,"
"The day before is what we bring to the day we're actually living through, life is a matter of carrying along all those days-before just as someone might carry stones, and when we can no longer cope with the load, the work is done."
"… because contrary to what people say, two weaknesses don't make for a still greater weakness, but for renewed strength ..."
"Very few people are aware that in each of our fingers, located somewhere between the firs phalange, the mesophalange and the metaphalange, there is a tiny brain. [...] It should be noted that fingers are without brains, these develop gradually with the passage of time and with the help of what the eyes see…. That is why the fingers have always excelled at uncovering what is concealed."
"Each part in itself constitutes the whole to which it belongs."
"Age carries with it a double load of guilt,"
"The emptiness of old age had caused him to forget that, in matters of feeling and of the heart, too much is always better than too little."
"He felt very tired, not from the mental effort, but because he had suddenly seen what the world was like, how there are many lies and truths,"
"After all, we are always on time, behind time, in time, but never out of time, no matter how often we are told that we are."
"Don’t quibble with the king over pears, let him eat the ripe ones and give you the green ones."
"It’s is the old who age a day every hour,"
"The best way to killing a rose is to force it open when it is still only the promise of a bud."
"Every thing in life is a uniform; the only time our bodies are truly in civilian dress is when we’re naked."
"Creating is always so much more stimulating than destroying."
"Lord knows why they depict death with wings when death is everywhere."
"Time is a master of ceremonies who always ends up putting us in our rightful place, we advance, stop and retreat according to his orders, our mistake lies in imagination that we can catch him out."
"Human nature is, by definition, a talkative one, imprudent, indiscreet, gossipy, incapable of closing its mouth and keeping it closed."
"Words were not given to man in order to conceal his thoughts."
"[T]here are times when it is best to be content with what one has, so as not to lose everything."
"Worse still if that sameness should ever become total."
"We have an odd relationship with words. We learn a few when we are small, throughout our lives we collect others through education, conversation, our contact with books, and yet, in comparison, there are only a tiny number about whose meaning, sense, and denotation we would have absolutely no doubts if, one day, we were to ask ourselves seriously what they meant. Thus we affirm and deny, thus we convince and are convinced, thus we argue, deduce, and conclude, wandering fearlessly over the surface of concepts about which we have only the vaguest of ideas, and, despite the false air of confidence that we generally affect as we feel our way along the road in the verbal darkness, we manage, more or less, to understand each other and even, sometimes, to find each other."
"No dia seguinte, ninguém morreu."
"A propósito, não resistiremos a recordar que a morte, por si mesma, sozinha, sem qualquer ajuda externa, sempre matou muito menos que o homem."
"The man changed position, turned his back on the wardrobe blocking the door and let his right arm slide down toward the side on which the dog is lying. A minute later, he was awake. He was thirsty. He turned on his bedside light, got up, shuffled his feet into the slippers which were, as always, providing a pillow for the dog's head, and went into the kitchen. Death followed him. The man filled a glass with water and drank it. At this point, the dog appeared, slaked his thirst in the water-dish next to the back door and then looked up at his master. I suppose you want to go out, said the cellist. He opened the door and waited until the animal came back. A little water remained in his glass. Death looked at it and made an effort to imagine what it must be like to feel thirsty, but failed. She would have been equally incapable of imagining it when she'd had to make people die of thirst in the desert, but at the time she hadn't even tried. The dog returned, wagging his tail. Let's go back to sleep, said the man. They went into the bedroom again, the dog turned around twice, then curled up into a ball. The man drew the sheet up to his neck, coughed twice and soon afterward was asleep again. Sitting in her corner, death was watching. Much later, the dog got up from the carpet and jumped onto the sofa. For the first time in her life, death knew what it felt like to have a dog on her lap."
"Mal sabendo ainda soletrar, já lia, sem perceber que estava lendo. Identificar na escrita do jornal uma palavra que eu conhecesse era como encontrar um marco na estrada a dizer-me que ia bem, que seguia na boa direcção. E foi assim, desta maneira algo invulgar, Diário após Diário, mês após mês, fazendo de conta que não ouvia as piadas dos adultos da casa, que se divertiam por estar eu a olhar para o jornal como se fosse um muro, que a minha hora de os deixar sem fala chegou, quando, um dia, de um fôlego, li em voz alta, sem titubear, nervoso mas triunfante, umas quantas linhas seguidas."
"The past is an immense area of stony ground that many people would like to drive across as if it were a motorway, while others move patiently from stone to stone, lifting each one because they need to know what lies beneath. Sometimes scorpions crawl out or centipedes, fat white caterpillars or ripe chrysalises, but it's not impossible that, at least once, an elephant might appear..."
"When the lord, also known as god, realised that adam and eve, although perfect in every outward aspect, could not utter a word or make even the most primitive of sounds, he must have felt annoyed with himself, for there was no one else in the garden of eden whom he could blame for this grave oversight..."
"In short, as well as being as big a son of a bitch as the lord, abraham was a consummate liar, ready to deceive anyone with his forked tongue, which in this case, according to the personal dictionary belonging to the narrator of this story, means treacherous, perfidious, false, disloyal and other similarly fine qualities. When he reached the place of which the lord had spoken, abraham built an alter and placed the wood on it. He then tied up his son and lifted him on to the altar, on top of the wood. Without pausing, he took up his knife in order to sacrifice the poor boy and was just about to slit his throat when he felt a hand grip his arm and heard a voice in his ear shouting, What are you doing, you wretch, killing your own son, burning him, it's the same old story it starts with a lamb and ends with the murder of the very person you should love most, But the lord told me to do it, said abraham, struggling, Keep still, or I'll be the one who does the killing, untie that boy at once, then kneel down and beg his forgiveness, Who are you. My name is cain, I'm the angel who saved isaac's life. This isn't true, cain is no angel, that title belongs to the being who has just landed with a great flapping of wings and who is now declaiming like an actor who has finally heard his cue, Lay not thy hand upon the lad, nor do anything to him, for now I know that thou fearest the lord, being prepared, for love of him, to sacrifice even your only son, You're late, said cain, the only reason isaac isn't dead is because I stepped in to prevent it. The angel looked suitably contrite, I'm terribly sorry to be late, but it really wasn't my fault, I was on my way here when I developed a mechanical problem in my right wing it was out of synch with the left one, and the result was that I got completely turned around, in fact I wasn't even sure I would get here, and given that no one had told me which of these mountains had been chosen as the place of sacrifice, it's a miracle I arrived at all, You're late, said cain again, Better late than never, replied the angel smugly, as if he had uttered a great truth, That's where you're wrong, never is not the opposite of late, the opposite of late is too late, retorted cain. The angel muttered, Oh, no, a rationalist, and since he had nor yet completed the mission with which he had been charged, he rattled off the rest of his message, This is what the lord commanded me to say: since you were capable of doing this and did not withhold your own son, I swear by my good name that I will bless you and multiply your seed as the stars of the heavens and as the sand upon the seashore and they will possess the gates of his enemies, and in your seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed because you have obeyed my voice, the word of the lord, That, for those who don't know it or pretend to ignore it, is the lord's double accounting system, said cain, whereby one man can win and the other not lose, apart from that, I don't see why all the people of the earth will be blessed just because abraham obeyed a stupid order, That is what we in heaven call due obedience, said the angel."
"My country is the Portuguese language."
"Ah, who will write the history of what might have been?"
"The most gifted novelist alive in the world today ... one of the last titans of an expiring literary genre."
"[The Gospel According to Jesus Christ] is an awesome work, imaginatively superior to any other life of Jesus, including the four canonical Gospels."
"José Saramago will be a permanent part of the Western canon. ... In all of his wonderful meditations upon the ruefulness of our lives, there is always the spirit of laughter beckoning us in the art of somehow going on. His achievement is one of the enlargements of life."
"A slight, modest man who looks more like an elderly clerk than a literary giant..."
"Saramago is not easy to read. He punctuates mostly with commas, doesn't paragraph often, doesn't set off conversation in quotes —; mannerisms I wouldn't endure in a lesser writer; but Saramago is worth it. More than worth it. Transcendently worth it."
"I read to learn. I have always read to learn. For example, I have learned almost more than I can bear to know from Saramago's Blindness and Seeing. But for all the intensity of Saramago's moral purpose and the awful clarity of his vision, my whole heart and soul rebel against calling those great novels "didactic.""
"With parables sustained by imagination, compassion and irony[, José Saramago] continually enables us once again to apprehend an elusory reality."
"A writer, like Faulkner, so confident of his resources and ultimate destination that he can bring any improbability to life."
"Sabei que, segundo o amor tiverdes, Tereis o entendimento de meus versos."
"Sonnet in full:"
"Eu cantarei de amor tão docemente, Por uns termos em si tão concertados, Que dois mil acidentes namorados Faça sentir ao peito que não sente."
"Porém, pera cantar de vosso gesto A composição alta e milagrosa Aqui falta saber, engenho e arte."
"[Ah o amor...] que nasce não sei onde, Vem não sei como, e dói não sei porquê."
"Amor é um fogo qu'arde sem se ver, É ferida que dói, e não se sente, É um contentamento descontente, É dor que desatina sem doer.'É um não querer mais que bem querer, É um andar solitário entre a gente, É nunca contentar-se de contente, É um cuidar que ganha em se perder.'É querer estar preso por vontade, É servir a quem vence o vencedor É ter com quem nos mata lealdade.'Mas como causar pode seu favor Nos corações humanos amizade, Se tão contrário a si é o mesmo Amor?"
"Sete anos de pastor Jacob servia Labão, pai de Raquel, serrana bela; Mas não servia o pai, servia a ela, E a ela só por prémio pretendia."
"Mais servira, se não fora Para tão longo amor tão curta a vida."
"Aquela triste e leda madrugada, Cheia toda de mágoa e de piedade, Enquanto houver no mundo saudade, Quero que seja sempre celebrada."
"Ela viu as palavras magoadas, Que puderam tornar o fogo frio, E dar descanso as almas condenadas."
"Quem vê, Senhora, claro e manifesto o lindo ser de vossos olhos belos, se não perder a vista só em vê-los, já não paga o que deve a vosso gesto."
"Porque é tamanha bem-aventurança o dar-vos quanto tenho e quanto posso, quanto mais vos pago, mais vos devo."
"Ah! minha Dinamene! Assim deixaste Quem não deixara nunca de querer-te! Ah! Ninfa minha, já não posso ver-te, Tão asinha esta vida desprezaste!'Como já pera sempre te apartaste De quem tão longe estava de perder-te? Puderam estas ondas defender-te Que não visses quem tanto magoaste?'Nem falar-te somente a dura Morte Me deixou, que tão cedo o negro manto Em teus olhos deitado consentiste!'Oh mar! oh céu! oh minha escura sorte! Que pena sentirei que valha tanto, Que inda tenha por pouco viver triste?"
"Alma minha gentil, que te partiste Tão cedo desta vida descontente, Repousa lá no Céu eternamente, E viva eu cá na terra sempre triste."
"Transforma-se o amador na cousa amada, Por virtude do muito imaginar; Não tenho, logo, mais que desejar, Pois em mim tenho a parte desejada."
"«Que levas, cruel Morte?» «Um claro dia». «A que horas o tomaste?» «Amanhecendo». «Entendes o que levas?» «Não o entendo». «Pois quem to faz levar?» «Quem o entendia»."
"Mudam-se os tempos, mudam-se as vontades, Muda-se o ser, muda-se a confiança; Todo o mundo é composto de mudança, Tomando sempre novas qualidades."
"Erros meus, má fortuna, amor ardente Em minha perdição se conjuraram."
"Perdigão perdeu a pena Não há mal que lhe não venha.Perdigão que o pensamento Subiu a um alto lugar, Perde a pena do voar, Ganha a pena do tormento. Não tem no ar nem no vento Asas com que se sustenha: Não há mal que lhe não venha.Quis voar a üa alta torre, Mas achou-se desasado; E, vendo-se depenado, De puro penado morre. Se a queixumes se socorre, Lança no fogo mais lenha: Não há mal que lhe não venha."
"Nem no campo flores, Nem no céu estrelas Me parecem belas Como os meus amores."
"Os bons vi sempre passar No mundo graves tormentos; E para mais me espantar, Os maus vi sempre nadar Em mar de contentamentos."
"Já me desenganei que de queixar-me não se alcança remédio; mas, quem pena, forçado lhe é gritar, se a dor é grande. Gritarei; mas é débil e pequena a voz para poder desabafar-me, porque nem com gritar a dor se abrande."
"Nem eu delicadezas vou cantando Co'o gosto do louvor, mas explicando Puras verdades já por mim passadas. Oxalá foram fábulas sonhadas!"
"Foge-me pouco a pouco a curta vida (se por caso é verdade que inda vivo); vai-se-me o breve tempo d'ante os olhos; choro pelo passado e quando falo, se me passam os dias passo e passo, vai-se-me, enfim, a idade e fica a pena."
"As armas e os Barões assinalados Que da Ocidental praia Lusitana Por mares nunca de antes navegados Passaram ainda além da Taprobana, Em perigos e guerras esforçados Mais do que prometia a força humana, E entre gente remota edificaram Novo Reino, que tanto sublimaram."
"Cantando espalharei por toda parte, Se a tanto me ajudar o engenho e arte."
"Cesse tudo o que a Musa antiga canta, Que outro valor mais alto se alevanta."
"E vós, Tágides minhas, pois criado Tendes em mi um novo engenho ardente, Se sempre em verso humilde celebrado Foi de mi vosso rio alegremente, Dai-me agora um som alto e sublimado, Um estilo grandíloco e corrente, Por que de vossas águas Febo ordene Que não tenham enveja às de Hipocrene."
"Já no largo Oceano navegavam..."
"Da Lua os claros raios rutilavam..."
"É fraqueza entre ovelhas ser leão."
"Ó grandes e gravíssimos perigos! Ó caminho de vida nunca certo!"
"Onde pode acolher-se um fraco humano, Onde terá segura a curta vida, Que não se arme, e se indigne o Céu sereno Contra um bicho da terra tão pequeno?"
"Quem poderá do mal aparelhado Livrar-se sem perigo sabiamente, Se lá de cima a Guarda soberana Não acudir à fraca força humana?"
"Eis aqui, quase cume da cabeça De Europa toda, o Reino Lusitano, Onde a terra se acaba e o mar começa."
"Esta é a ditosa pátria minha amada."
"O caso triste, e dino da memória, Que do sepulcro os homens desenterra, Aconteceu da mísera e mesquinha Que depois de ser morta foi Rainha."
"Tu só, tu, puro Amor..."
"Contra uma dama, ó peitos carniceiros, Feros vos amostrais, e cavaleiros?"
"Assim como a bonina, que cortada Antes do tempo foi, cândida e bela, Sendo das mãos lascivas maltratada Da menina que a trouxe na capela, O cheiro traz perdido e a cor murchada: Tal está morta a pálida donzela, Secas do rosto as rosas, e perdida A branca e viva cor, co'a doce vida."
"Um fraco Rei faz fraca a forte gente."
"Ó Rei subido, Aventurar-me a ferro, a fogo, a neve É tão pouco por vós, que mais me pena Ser esta vida cousa tão pequena."
"Certifico-te, ó Rei, que se contemplo Como fui destas praias apartado, Cheio dentro de dúvida e receio, Que apenas nos meus olhos ponho o freio."
"Mas um velho d'aspeito venerando, Que ficava nas praias, entre a gente, Postos em nós os olhos, meneando Três vezes a cabeça, descontente, A voz pesada um pouco alevantando, Que nós no mar ouvimos claramente, C'um saber só de experiências feito, Tais palavras tirou do experto peito:'Ó glória de mandar! Ó vã cobiça Desta vaidade, a quem chamamos Fama!thumb|O glory of commanding! O vain thirst Of that same empty nothing we call fame!"
"Já que nesta gostosa vaidade Tanto enlevas a leve fantasia, Já que à bruta crueza e feridade Puseste nome esforço e valentia, Já que prezas em tanta quantidade O desprezo da vida, que devia De ser sempre estimada..."
"Não acabava, quando uma figura Se nos mostra no ar, robusta e válida, De disforme e grandíssima estatura, O rosto carregado, a barba esquálida, Os olhos encovados, e a postura Medonha e má, e a cor terrena e pálida, Cheios de terra e crespos os cabelos, A boca negra, os dentes amarelos.'Tão grande era de membros, que bem posso Certificar-te, que este era o segundo De Rodes estranhíssimo Colosso, Que um dos sete milagres foi do mundo: Com um tom de voz nos fala horrendo e grosso, Que pareceu sair do mar profundo: Arrepiam-se as carnes e o cabelo A mi e a todos, só de ouvi-lo e vê-lo.thumb|I spoke, when rising through the darkened air, Appalled, we saw w:Adamastor|a hideous phantom glare..."
"Ó que não sei de nojo como o conte! Que, crendo ter nos braços quem amava, Abraçado me achei com um duro monte De áspero mato e de espessura brava. Estando com um penedo fronte a fronte, Que eu pelo rosto angélico apertava Não fiquei homem não, mas mudo e quedo, E junto dum penedo outro penedo."
"Assim contava, e com um medonho choro Súbito diante os olhos se apartou; Desfez-se a nuvem negra, e com um sonoro Bramido muito longe o mar soou."
"Quão doce é o louvor e a justa glória Dos próprios feitos, quando são soados! Qualquer nobre trabalha que em memória Vença ou iguale os grandes já passados. As invejas da ilustre e alheia história Fazem mil vezes feitos sublimados. Quem valerosas obras exercita, Louvor alheio muito o esperta e incita."
"Sem vergonha o não digo, que a razão De algum não ser por versos excelente, É não se ver prezado o verso e rima, Porque quem não sabe arte, não na estima."
"Vistes que, com grandíssima ousadia, Foram já cometer o Céu supremo; Vistes aquela insana fantasia De tentarem o mar com vela e remo; Vistes, e ainda vemos cada dia, Soberbas e insolências tais, que temo Que do Mar e do Céu, em poucos anos, Venham Deuses a ser, e nós, humanos."
"Numa mão sempre a espada, e noutra a pena."
"Veja agora o juízo curioso Quanto no rico, assim como no pobre, Pode o vil interesse e sede inimiga Do dinheiro, que a tudo nos obriga."
"Ó que famintos beijos na floresta, E que mimoso choro que soava! Que afagos tão suaves, que ira honesta, Que em risinhos alegres se tornava! O que mais passam na manhã, e na sesta, Que Vénus com prazeres inflamava, Melhor é experimentá-lo que julgá-lo, Mas julgue-o quem não pode experimentá-lo."
"Porque essas honras vãs, esse ouro puro Verdadeiro valor não dão à gente: Melhor é, merecê-los sem os ter, Que possuí-los sem os merecer."
"Vão os anos decendo, e já do Estio Há pouco que passar até o Outono; A Fortuna me faz o engenho frio, Do qual já não me jacto nem me abono; Os desgostos me vão levando ao rio Do negro esquecimento e eterno sono..."
"Quem faz injúria vil e sem razão, Com forças e poder em que está posto, Não vence; que a vitória verdadeira É saber ter justiça nua e inteira."
"Nô mais, Musa, nô mais, que a Lira tenho Destemperada e a voz enrouquecida, E não do canto, mas de ver que venho Cantar a gente surda e endurecida. O favor com que mais se acende o engenho Não no dá a pátria, não, que está metida No gosto da cobiça e na rudeza Dũa austera, apagada e vil tristeza."
"Fazei, Senhor, que nunca os admirados Alemães, Galos, Ítalos e Ingleses, Possam dizer que são pera mandados, Mais que pera mandar, os Portugueses. Tomai conselho só d'exprimentados Que viram largos anos, largos meses, Que, posto que em cientes muito cabe, Mais em particular o experto sabe."
"Nem me falta na vida honesto estudo, Com longa experiência misturado, Nem engenho, que aqui vereis presente, Cousas que juntas se acham raramente."
"Pera servir-vos, braço às armas feito, Pera cantar-vos, mente às Musas dada."
"Fico que em todo o mundo de vós cante, De sorte que Alexandro em vós se veja, Sem à dita de Aquiles ter enveja."
"As derradeiras palavras que na náu disse foram as de Scipião Africano: Ingrata patria, non possidebis ossa mea!"
"Quem ouviu dizer que em tão pequeno teatro como o de um pobre leito, quizesse a fortuna representar tão grandes desventuras? E eu, como se elas não bastassem, me ponho ainda da sua parte; porque procurar resistir a tantos males pareceria espécie de desavergonhamento."
"Enfim acabarei a vida e verão todos que fui tão afeiçoado à minha Pátria que não só me contentei de morrer nela, mas com ela."
"Com Amor a rosa, Que tão fresca, &c."
"Aqui jaz Luís de Camões Príncipe dos poetas do seu tempo; viveu pobre e miseravelmente e assi morreu."
"We look for something new in a literature unknown to us; we do not go to Lisbon to gaze into shop-windows which we can see in Paris. But the fact is that in Camões' lyrics we enter an enchanted country. They have a peculiar glow and magic which one seeks in vain elsewhere."
"I can read Camoes, etc., pretty well now, and he—his sonnets—are superb—as good as any in English, certainly."
"His sonnets...are full of Petrarchic tenderness and grace, and moulded with classic correctness."
"He might well claim to be a Portuguese Virgil."
"He is a Humanist even in his contradictions, in his association of a Pagan mythology with a Christian outlook, in his conflicting feelings about war and empire, in his love of home and his desire for adventure, in his appreciation of pleasure and the demands of his heroic outlook. But he is above all a Humanist in his devotion to the classical ideal and in his conviction that this was the living force in the imaginative life of Europe in his time. ... His poem covers a wide range of experience because it was written by a man who was open to many kinds of impression and had a generous appreciation of human nature. ... His conception of manhood is fuller and more various than Virgil's. He has indeed something of Homer's pleasure in the variegated human scene and, like Homer, he knows that there can be more than one kind of noble manhood."
"And this morning, as I sat alone within the inner chamber With the great saloon beyond it, lost in pleasant thought serene— For I had been reading Camoëns—that poem you remember, Which his lady's eyes are praised in, as the sweetest ever seen."
"Camoens, with that look he had, Compelling India's Genius sad From the wave through the Lusiad, With murmurs of a purple ocean Indrawn in vibrative emotion Along the verse!"
"The most pleasing literary labour of my life has been to translate "The Lusiads"...of my master, Camoens."
"[Camoens is] the perfection of a traveller's study... A wayfarer and voyager from his youth; a soldier, somewhat turbulent withal, wounded and blamed for his wounds; ... a doughty Sword and yet doughtier Pen; a type of the chivalrous age; a patriot of the purest water, so jealous of his Country's good fame that nothing would satisfy him but to see the world bow before her perfections; a genius, the first and foremost of his day, who died in the direst poverty and distress."
"During how many hopeless days and sleepless nights Camoens was my companion, my consoler, my friend;—on board raft and canoe; sailer and steamer; on the camel and the mule; under the tent and the jungle-tree; upon the fire-peak and the snow-peak; on the Prairie, the Campo, the Steppe, the Desert!"
"He was in sooth a genuine bard; His was no faint, fictitious flame. Like his, may love be thy reward, But not thy hapless fate the same."
"[Camões] alone, of all the lyric race, ... Can look a common soldier in the face: I find a comrade where I sought a master."
"Through fire and shipwreck, pestilence and loss, Led by the ignis fatuus of duty To a dog's death—yet of his sorrows king— He shouldered high his voluntary Cross, Wrestled his hardships into forms of beauty, And taught his gorgon destinies to sing."
"[Camões] is the soldier's poet par excellence."
"excelentissimo Camoes"
"Camoens, the author of the Lusiads, ought to be censured by all his readers, when he brings in Bacchus and Christ into the same adventure of his fable."
"SPAINE gave me noble Birth: Coimbra, Arts: LISBON, a high-plac't love, and Courtly parts: AFFRICK, a Refuge when the Court did frowne: WARRE, at an Eye's expence, a faire renowne: TRAVAYLE, experience, with noe short sight Of India, and the World; both which I write INDIA a life, which I gave there for Lost On Mecons waves (a wreck and Exile) tost To boot, this POEM, held up in one hand Whilst with the other I swam safe to land: TASSO, a sonet, and (what's greater yit) The honour to give Hints to such a witt. PHLIP a Cordiall, (the ill Fortune see!) To cure my Wants when those had new kill'd mee My Country (Nothing—yes) Immortall Prayse (so did I, Her) Beasts cannot browze on Bayes."
"Tho' fiercest tribes her galling fetters drag, Proud Spain must strike to Lusitania's flag, Whose ampler folds, in conscious triumph spread, Wave o'er her Naval Poet's laureate head. Ye Nymphs of Tagus, from your golden cell, That caught the echo of his tuneful shell, Rise, and to deck your darling's shrine provide The richest treasures that the deep may hide: From every land let grateful Commerce shower Her tribute to the Bard who sung her power; As those rich gales, from whence his Gama caught A pleasing earnest of the prize he sought, The balmy fragrance of the East dispense, So steals his Song on the delighted sense, Astonishing, with sweets unknown before, Those who ne'er tasted but of classic lore. Immortal Bard, thy name with Gama vies, Thou, like thy Hero, with propitious skies The sail of bold adventure hast unfurl'd, And in the Epic ocean found a world. 'Twas thine to blend the eagle and the dove, At once the Bard of glory and of love, Thy thankless country heard thy varying lyre, To Petrarch's softness melt, and swell to Homer's fire! Boast and lament, ungrateful land, a Name, In life, in death, thy honor and thy shame."
"Que cosa mas lastimosa que ver un tan grande ingenio mal logrado! yo lo bi morir en un hospital en Lisbon, sin tener una sauana con que cubrirse, despues de aver triunfado en la India oriental y de aver navigado 5500 leguas por mar: que auiso tan grande para los que de noche y de dia se cançan estudiando sin provecho como la araña en urdir tellas para cazar moscas."
"The greatest poet of the sixteenth century, as of all others in Portuguese poetry, is he who sang of"the renowned men, Who, from the western Lusitanian shore, Sailing through seas man never sailed before, Passed beyond Taprobane,"—Luis de Camoens, author of the national epic, "Os Lusiadas," who lived in poverty and wretchedness, died in the Lisbon hospital, and, after death, was surnamed the Great,—a title never given before, save to popes and emperors. The life of no poet is so full of vicissitude and romantic adventure as that of Camoens. In youth, he was banished from Lisbon on account of a love affair with Catharina de Attayda, a dama do paço, or lady of honour at court; he served against the Moors as a volunteer on board the fleet in the Mediterranean, and lost his right eye by a gun-shot wound in a battle off Ceuta; he returned to Lisbon, proud and poor, but found no favour at court, and no means of a livelihood in the city; he abandoned his native land for India, indignantly exclaiming with Scipio, "Ingrata patria, non possidebis ossa mea!" Three ships of the squadron were lost in a storm, he reached Goa safely in the fourth; he fought under the king of Cochin against the king of Pimenta; he fought against the Arabian corsairs in the Red Sea;he was banished from Goa to the island of Macao, where he became administrator of the effects of deceased persons, and where he wrote the greater part of the "Lusiad"; he was shipwrecked on the coast of Camboya, saving only his life and his poem, the manuscript of which he brought ashore saturated with sea-water; he was accused of malversation in office, and thrown into prison at Goa; after an absence of sixteen years, he returned in abject poverty to Lisbon, then ravaged by the plague; he lived a few years on a wretched pension granted him by King Sebastian when the "Lusiad" was published, and on the alms which a slave he had brought with him from India collected at night in the streets of Lisbon; and finally died in the hospital, exclaiming, "Who could believe that on so small a stage as that of one poor bed Fortune would choose to represent so great a tragedy?" Thus was completed the Iliad of his woes. Fifteen years afterward, a splendid monument was erected to his memory; so that, as has been said or another, "he asked for bread, and they gave him a stone.""
"Jack [Chase,] above all things, was an ardent admirer of Camoens. Parts of The Lusiad he could recite in the original."
"Camoens! White Jacket, Camoens! Did you ever read him? The Lusiad, I mean? It's the man-of-war epic of the world, my lad. Give me Gama for a commodore, say I—noble Gama! ... How many great men have been sailors, White Jacket! They say Homer himself was once a tar, even as his hero, Ulysses, was both a sailor and a shipwright. I'll swear Shakspeare was once a captain of the forecastle. Do you mind the first scene in The Tempest, White Jacket? And the world-finder, Christopher Columbus, was a sailor! and so was Camoens, who went to sea with Gama, else we had never had The Lusiad, White Jacket. Yes, I've sailed over the very track that Camoens sailed—round the East Cape into the Indian Ocean. I've been in Don Jose's garden, too, in Macao, and bathed my feet in the blessed dew of the walks where Camoens wandered before me. Yes, White Jacket, and I have seen and sat in the cave at the end of the flowery, winding way, where Camoens, according to tradition, composed certain parts of his Lusiad. Ay, Camoens was a sailor once!"
"For the last time, hear Camoens, boys!"
"CAMOENS (Before) Ever restless, restless, craving rest— The Imperfect toward Perfection pressed Yea, for the God demands thy best. The world with endless beauty teems, And though evokes new worlds of dreams Hunt then the flying herds of themes! And fan, still fan, thy fervid fire, Until thy crucibled gold shall show That fire can purge as well as glow. In ordered ardour, nobly strong, Flame to the height of epic song.(After) CAMOENS IN THE HOSPITAL What now avails the pageant verse, Trophies and arms with music borne? Base is the world; and some rehearse Now noblest meet ignoble scorn, Vain now thy ardour, vain thy fire, Delirium mere, unsound desire; Fate's knife hath ripped thy corded lyre. Exhausted by the exacting lay, Thou dost but fall a surer prey To wile and guile ill understood; While they who work them, fair in face, Still keep their strength in prudent place, And claim they worthier run life's race, Serving high God with useful good."
"Luis de Camoens, the greatest literary genius ever produced by Portugal; in martial courage, and spirit of honour, nothing inferior to her greatest heroes."
"The apparition, which in the night hovers athwart the fleet near the Cape of Good Hope, is the grandest fiction in human composition; the invention his own!"
"The fiction of the apparition of the Cape of Tempests, in sublimity and awful grandeur of imagination, stands unsurpassed in human composition."
"But for Camoens, though he has some glaring faults, he hath, doubtless, many original beauties; both of which, indeed, speak uncommon abilities. He is not correct like Virgil; but the hand of cold and sober judgment would have blotted out the novelties that surprise and delight us: these are "sublime infirmities," which will not bear the inquisition of the critic. "The epic poetry of Camoens, (says Voltaire,) is a sort of poetry unheard of before." I allow it; but not to his dishonour. The manners of the Lusiad are new and striking. And as to imagery, the apparition, hovering athwart the fleet near the Cape of Good Hope, is so grand a fiction, that it would alone set Camoens above Virgil, in point of genius. And what are the Elysian Fields to the Island of Venus!"
"The Rubens of verse."
"Camoens was a master of sound and language, a man of vigour and a splendid rhetorician."
"Black the mountains of Timor Sweeping from the sea Watched Camoëns drift ashore, Rags and misery . . . Hidden in that hollow rod Slept, like heavenly flame Titan-stolen from a god, Lusitania's flame."
"What other lessons could I possibly receive from a Portuguese who lived in the sixteenth century, who composed the Rimas and the glories, the shipwrecks and the national disenchantments in the Lusíadas, who was an absolute poetical genius, the greatest in our literature, no matter how much sorrow this causes to Fernando Pessoa, who proclaimed himself its Super Camões? No lesson would fit me, no lesson could I learn, except the simplest, which could have been offered to me by Luís Vaz de Camões in his pure humanity, for instance the proud humility of an author who goes knocking at every door looking for someone willing to publish the book he has written, thereby suffering the scorn of the ignoramuses of blood and race, the disdainful indifference of a king and of his powerful entourage, the mockery with which the world has always received the visits of poets, visionaries and fools. At least once in life, every author has been, or will have to be, Luís de Camões..."
"The perfection [Vollendung] of Portuguese poetry is all the more apparent in the beautiful poems of the great Camões."
"Sei, Camoens, denn mein Vorbild!"
"Gedoemd poëet, zwerver en banneling."
"Ed or quella del colto, e buon Luigi, Tant 'oltre stende il glorioso volo, Ch'i tuoi spalmati legni andar men lunge.'Ond'a quelli, a cui s'alza il nostro polo, Ed a chi ferma incontra i suoi vestigi, Per lui del corso tuo la fama aggiunge."
"Fortuna estrana que al ingenio aplico La vida pobre y el sepulcro rico."
"Camoëns, en Portugal, ouvrait une carrière toute nouvelle, et s'acquérait une réputation qui dure encore parmi ses compatriotes, qui l'appellent le Virgile portugais."
"Camões soothed with it [the Sonnet] an exile's grief."
"Uma obscura e inquieta castidade: pôs uma flor para mim no jardim mais secreto num horizonte de graça e claridade intangível e perto.'Promessa estática no luar da densidade em mim corpórea. não é a culpa, é a memoria da primeira manhã do pecado sem Eva e sem Adão.'Só o fruto provado e a serpente enroscada na minha solidão."
"En la huerta nasce la rosa: quiérome ir allá por mirar al ruiseñor cómo cantavá."
"Viera estar rosal florido, cogí rosas con sospiro: vengo del rosale.'Del rosal vengo, mi madre, vengo del rosale."
"La caza de amor es de altanería."
"Quem não é senhor de si Porque o será de ninguém?"