Clarice Lispector Quotes
Top 100 wise famous quotes and sayings by Clarice Lispector
Clarice Lispector Famous Quotes & Sayings
Discover top inspirational quotes from Clarice Lispector on Wise Famous Quotes.
She kept going: why put it off? Yes, why put it off? she asked herself. And her question was solid, demanding a serious answer.
but the crime is more important than the punishment. I enliven all of me in my happy instinct for destruction.
Once in a while, groundless melancholy would darken my face, a dull and incomprehensible nostalgia for times never experienced would invade me.
But I've never known what to do with people and the things I like, sometimes they weigh me down, ever since I was a girl.
But what can I do if you are not touched by my defects, whereas I loved yours. My candour was crushed underfoot by you.
Never suffer because you don't have an opinion on this or that topic. Never suffer because you are not something or because you are.
Before her birth was she an idea? Before her birth was she dead? And after her birth she would die? What a thin slice of watermelon.
I carry out sun rituals on the slopes of high mountains. But I am also taboo for myself, untouchable because forbidden.
The difference between the insane and the not-insane person is that the latter doesn't do or say the things he thinks.
Everything struck her at times as too precious, impossible to touch. And, at times, what people used as air to breathe, was weight and death for her.
It was darker, all she could see of him was a shadow. He was fading more and more, slipping through her hands, dead at the bottom of sleep.
And I want to be held down. I don't know what to do with the horrifying freedom that can destroy me.
Things were somehow so good that they were in danger of becoming very bad because what is fully mature is very close to rotting
Suddenly I've become so restless that I'm capable of saying "That is enough" and ending what I'm writing you, which is based mostly on blind words.
Every idea that occurred to him, because he became familiar with it in seconds, came with the fear of having stolen it.
The steel suddenly touched her heart. Ah, jealousy, it was jealousy, the cold hand mashing her slowly, squeezing her, diminishing her soul.
Above all, she went on thinking, she understands life because she is not sufficiently intelligent not to understand it.
Truth is always an inexplicable inner contact. Truth is unrecognizable. So it doesn't exist? No, For men it doesn't exist.
What an effort I make to be myself. I struggle against a tide in a boat with just enough room for my two feet in a perilous and fragile balance.
For at the hour of death you became a celebrated film star, it is a moment of glory for everyone, when the choral music scales the top notes.
I write as if to save somebody's life. Probably my own. Life is a kind of madness that death makes. Long live the dead because we live in them.
Everything in the world began with a yes. One molecule said yes to another molecule and life was born.
I ask myself: is every story that has ever been written in this world, a story of suffering and affliction?
Life really just barely escapes me though the certainty comes to me that life is other and has a hidden style
My truest life is unrecognizable, extremely interior and there is not a single word that defines it.
Meanwhile, the clouds are white and the sky is blue. Why is there so much God? At the expense of men.
Obsessed with the desire to be happy I lost my life. I moved with the tension of a bow and arrow in an unreality of desires.
Ah, hand holding mine, if I hadn't needed so much of myself to shape my life, I would already have had life!
I'm so frightened that I shall be able to accept the notion that I have lost myself only if I imagine that someone is holding my hand.
As soon as you discover the truth it's already gone: the moment passed. I ask: what is it? Reply: it's not.
What I want is to live of that initial and primordial something that was what made some things reach the point of aspiring to be human.
I write very simple and very naked. That's why it wounds. I'm a grey and blue landscape. I rise in a dry fountain and in the cold light.
The terrible duty is that of going all the way to the end. And without relying on anyone. To live oneself.
I must not forget, I thought, that I have been happy, that I am being happier than one can be. But I forgot, I've always forgotten.
I just know that I don't want cheating. I refuse. I deepened myself but I don't believe in myself because my thought is invented.
No it is not easy to write. It is as hard as breaking rocks. Sparks and splinters fly like shattered steel.
Real life is so secret that not even I, who am dying of it, have been given the password, I am dying without knowing of what.
Perhaps love is to give one's own solitude to others? For it is the very last thing we have to offer.
from "The Gift
from "The Gift
It is curious that I can't say who I am. That is to say, I know it all too well, but I can't say it.
I can feel myself holding a child, thought Joanna. Sleep, my child, sleep, I tell you. The child is warm and I am sad.
It is instead just the grace of a common person turning suddenly real because he is common and human and recoignizable.
Where does music go when it's not playing? - she asked herself. And disarmed she would answer: May they make a harp out of my nerves when I die.
Its form doesn't matter: no form manages to circumscribe and alter it. Mirror is light. A tiny piece of mirror is always the whole mirror.
When I think of what I already lived through it seems to me I was shedding my bodies along the paths.