Frases de Clarice Lispector

Havia dias que eram tão áridos e desérticos que ela daria anos de sua vida em troca de uns minutos de graça.

Hear me, hear my silence. What I say is never what I say but instead something else.

I am a heart beating in the world. You who are reading me please help me to be born.

I am alone and must live a certain intimate glory that in solitude can become pain. And the pain, silence.

I am an object in whose hands? such is my human destiny.

I am before, I am almost, I am never.

I am coherent—my canticle is profound. Slow. But rising. Rising still. If it rises much more it will become full moon and silence, and phantasmagoric lunar soil.

I am creating myself. And walking in complete darkness in search of ourselves is what we do. It hurts. But these are the pains of childbirth: a thing is born that is.

I am death. Death takes place in my very being—how can I explain to you? It’s a sensual death.

I am implicit. And when I make myself explicit I lose the humid intimacy.

I am obscure to myself.

I am only limited by my identity.

I am piecemeal. My story is living.

I am this very second forever in the now.

I am word and also its echo.

I am. This is all that comes to me from life. But what am I? the answer is just: what am I.

I deepen the words as if I were painting, more than an object, its shadow.

I don’t think just as the diamond doesn’t think. I shine wholly limpid. I have neither hunger nor thirst: I am.

I don’t want to have the terrible limitation of those who live merely from what can make sense. Not I: I want an invented truth.

I have the strange impression that I don’t belong to the human species.