I'm not doing anything, and yet I'm also doing the most important thing a man can do: I'm listening to what I needed to hear from myself.
Hatred. Something almost as physical as walls, pianos, or nurses. She could almost touch the destructive energy leaking out of her body. She allowed the feeling to emerge, regardless of whether it was good or bad; she was sick of self-control, of masks, of appropriate behavior. Veronika wanted to spend her remaining two or three days of life behaving as inappropriately as she could.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote explores the deep and often problematic nature of hatred and the desire for authenticity in one's emotions.
In this quote, Paulo Coelho illustrates how powerful and consuming hatred can be, akin to physical entities like walls or pianos. The protagonist, Veronika, feels an overwhelming urge to express her true feelings, free from societal norms and expectations, suggesting that the release of pent-up emotions, even if negative, can feel liberating. Through her desire to break away from self-control and appropriate behavior, Coelho invites readers to reflect on the importance of embracing one's true self and emotions, regardless of societal judgments.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
This quote can be used in a discussion about emotional honesty in therapy sessions.
More from Paulo Coelho
All quotes →Each stone, each bend cries welcome to him. He identifies with the mountains and the streams, he sees something of his own soul in the plants and the animals and the birds of the field.
We need to clear our minds of bad thoughts.
Having the courage to take the steps we always wanted to take is the only way of showing that we trust in God.
The fool who loves giving advice on our garden never tends his own plants
Sometimes the Warrior feels as if he were living two lives at once.
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Anyone who thinks that the Communist regimes of Central Europe are exclusively the work of criminals is overlooking a basic truth: The criminal regimes were made not by criminals but by enthusiasts convinced they had discovered the only road to paradise. They defended that road so valiantly that they were forced to execute many people. Later it became clear that there was no paradise, that the enthusiasts were therefore murderers.
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In some ways I feel sorry for racists and for religious fanatics, because they so much miss the point of being human, and deserve a sort of pity. But then I harden my heart, and decide to hate them all the more, because of the misery they inflict and because of the contemptible excuses they advance for doing so.
There is no reason for believing that any sort of gods exist, and quite good reasons for believing that they do not exist and never have. It has all been a gigantic waste of time and a waste of life. It would be a joke of cosmic proportions if it weren't so tragic.