Frases de Clarice Lispector

I incarnate myself in the voluptuous and unintelligible phrases that tangle up beyond the words.

I know what I am doing here: I am telling of the instants that drip and are thick with blood.

I let myself happen.

I lose the identity of the world inside myself and exist without guarantees.

I love objects to the degree that they do not love me.

I may not have meaning but it is the same lack of meaning that the pulsing vein has.

I must speak because speaking saves. But I have no word to say.

I need secrets in order to live.

I pin down the instants of metamorphosis and there’s a terrible beauty to their sequence and concurrence.

I reach the real through the dream. I invent you, reality.

I renounce having a meaning, and then the sweet and painful weakness grips me.

I surpass myself abdicating myself and am therefore the world: I follow the voice of the world, I myself suddenly with a unique voice.

I too am ferociously alive—and I lick my snout like a tiger who has just devoured a deer.

I transfigure reality and then another dreaming and sleepwalking reality, creates me.

I unfold only in the now.

I want inside this night that is longer than life, I want, inside this night, life raw and bloody and full of saliva.

I want the inconclusive. I want the profound organic disorder that nevertheless hints at an underlying order.

I want to be buried with the watch on my wrist so that in the earth something can pulse time.

I want to die with life. I swear that I shall only die profiting from the last instant.

I want to feel in my hands the quivering and lively nerve of the now and may that nerve resist me like a restless vein.