Clarice Lispector

So long as I have questions to which there are no answers, I shall go on writing.

A horse is freedom so indominable that it becomes useless to imprison it to serve man: it lets itself be domesticated, but with a simple, rebellious toss of the head-shaking its mane like an abundance of free-flowing hair-it shows that its inner nature is always wild, translucent and free.

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.

Love is now, is always. All that is missing is the coup de grâce- which is called passion.

I work only with lost and founds.

Ela acreditava em anjo e, porque acreditava, eles existiam" | "She believed in angels, and, because she believed, they existed

I write and that way rid myself of me and then at last I can rest.

Things were somehow so good that they were in danger of becoming very bad because what is fully mature is very close to rotting

Do you ever suddenly find it strange to be yourself?

Her curiosity instructed her more than the answers she was given.

How was she to tie herself to a man without permitting him to imprison her? And was there some means of acquiring things without those things possessing her?

Even great men are only truly recognized and honored once they are dead. Why? Because those who praise them need to feel themselves somehow superior to the person praised, they need to feel they are making some concession.

Holding someone's hand was always my idea of joy.

Do you know that hope sometimes consists only of a question without an answer?

I hear the mad song of a little bird and crush butterflies between my fingers.

I write to save someone's life, probably my own

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.

No it is not easy to write. It is as hard as breaking rocks. Sparks and splinters fly like shattered steel.

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 only achieve simplicity with enormous effort