I write to save someone's life, probably my own Clarice Lispector More Quotes by Clarice Lispector More Quotes From Clarice Lispector Everything in the world began with a yes. One molecule said yes to another molecule and life was born. Clarice Lispector saying-yes novelists life It is because I dove into the abyss that I am beginning to love the abyss I am made of. Clarice Lispector dove abyss made Whether she won or lost, she would continue to wrestle with life. It would not be with her own life alone but with all of life. Something had finally been released within her. And there it was, the sea. Clarice Lispector sea lost I do not know much. But there are certain advantages in not knowing. Like virgin territory, the mind is free of preconceptions. Everything I do not know forms the greater part of me: This is my largesse. And with this I understand everything. The things I do not know constitute my truth. Clarice Lispector territory knowing mind Do you know that hope sometimes consists only of a question without an answer? Clarice Lispector answers knows sometimes Putting my hand in someone else’s has always been my definition of happiness. Before I fall asleep, often - in that small struggle not to lose consciousness and go into the greater world - often, before I get up the courage to go into the vastness of sleep, I pretend that someone has my hand in theirs, and then I go, go to that enormous absence of form that is sleep. And when even after that I don’t have courage, I dream. Clarice Lispector struggle dream fall I only achieve simplicity with enormous effort Clarice Lispector simplicity effort achieve The mystery of human destiny is that we are fated, but that we have the freedom to fulfill or not fulfill our fate: realization of our fated destiny depends on us. While inhuman beings like the cockroach realize the entire cycle without going astray because they make no choices. Clarice Lispector fate destiny choices Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person? Clarice Lispector persons monsters mean The only truth is that I live. Sincerely, I live. Who am I? Well, that's a bit much. Clarice Lispector sincerely truth-is wells There it is, the sea, the most incomprehensible of non-human existences. Clarice Lispector existence humans sea Do you ever suddenly find it strange to be yourself? Clarice Lispector being-yourself strange Living isn't courage, knowing that you're living, that's courage Clarice Lispector knowing No it is not easy to write. It is as hard as breaking rocks. Sparks and splinters fly like shattered steel. Clarice Lispector rocks steel writing All the world began with a yes. One molecule said yes to another molecule and life was born. But before prehistory there was the prehistory of the prehistory and there was the never and there was the yes. It was ever so. I don’t know why, but I do know that the universe never began. Clarice Lispector simplicity effort mistake To think is an act. To feel is a fact. Clarice Lispector feels facts thinking Her curiosity instructed her more than the answers she was given. Clarice Lispector given curiosity answers Things were somehow so good that they were in danger of becoming very bad because what is fully mature is very close to rotting Clarice Lispector rotting becoming mature Love is so much more deadly than I had thought, love is so much inherent as the very lack, and we are guaranteed by a need to be renewed continuously. Love is now, is forever. There is just the blow of grace - call it passion. Clarice Lispector passion blow love-is I have grown weary of literature: silence alone comforts me. If I continue to write, it’s because I have nothing more to accomplish in this world except to wait for death. Searching for the word in darkness. Any little success invades me and puts me in full view of everyone. I long to wallow in the mud. I can scarcely control my need for self-abasement, my craving for licentiousness and debauchery. Sin tempts me, forbidden pleasures lure me. I want to be both pig and hen, then kill them and drink their blood. Clarice Lispector self writing pigs
