To create, I destroyed myself; I made myself external to such a degree within myself that within myself I do not exist except in an external fashion. I am the living setting in which several actors make entrances, putting on several different plays.
Interpretation
This quote reflects the inner conflict of an artist who sacrifices their true self to create external art.
In this profound statement by Fernando Pessoa, the author explores the intense inner turmoil and transformation that can accompany the creative process. The act of creation is portrayed as a destructive force that compels the artist to distance themselves from their authentic identity, leading to a perception of the self as a mere stage or setting upon which various personas or 'actors' take the spotlight. This commentary on the nature of creativity underscores the idea that artistic expression often entails a painful sacrifice of one’s inner essence to manifest outwardly, resulting in a fragmented sense of self.
In practice
In a discussion about the nature of artistic expression, one might use this quote to illustrate the emotional sacrifices artists make.
I have at this moment so many fundamental thoughts, so many truly metaphysical things to say, that I suddenly get tired and decide not to write any more, not to think any more, but to allow the fever of speaking to make me sleepy, and with my eyes closed, like a cat, I play with everything I could have said.
It's been months since I last wrote. I've lived in a state of mental slumber, leading the life of someone else. I've felt, very often, a vicarious happiness. I haven't existed. I've been someone else. I've lived without thinking.
We all have two lives: The true, the one we dreamed of in childhood And go on dreaming of as adults in a substratum of mist; the false, the one we love when we live with others, the practical, the useful, the one we end up by being put in a coffin.
I'm a man for whom the outside world is an inner Reality.
My dreams are a stupid refuge, like an umbrella against a thunderbolt.
The chill of what I won't feel gnaws at my present heart.
I am the history of the rejection of who I am
We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!
It was the contemplation of God that created men who were equal, for it was in God that they were equal.
Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.
If the awareness of our limitations begins to limit or to dim our value consciousness as well—as happens, for instance, in old age with regard to the values of youth—then we have already started the movement of devaluation which will end with the defamation of the world and all its values. Only a timely act of resignation can deliver us from this tendency toward self-delusion.
Man's chief moral deficiency appears to be not his indiscretions but his reticence.
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