I asked for very little from life, and even this little was denied me. A nearby field, a ray of sunlight, a little bit of calm along with a bit of bread, not to feel oppressed by the knowledge that I exist, not to demand anything from others, and not to have others demand anything from me - this was denied me, like the spare change we might deny a beggar not because we're mean-hearted but because we don't feel like unbuttoning our coat.
Interpretation
The quote expresses the idea of a simple, yet unfulfilled desire for basic comforts and peace in life.
In this quote, Fernando Pessoa reflects on the minimal needs he has from life, highlighting a deep sense of existential disappointment. He articulates a longing for the simple pleasures of nature and tranquility, as well as a wish to disengage from societal demands and expectations. His metaphor of denying spare change to a beggar underlines the emotional struggle against non-fulfillment, illustrating how even the simplest wishes can be denied, not out of malice, but due to the complexities of human existence.
In practice
In a philosophy class discussing existentialism, this quote can illustrate the struggle with life's simple desires.
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.
When people ask me where my roots are, I look down at my feet, and I see the roots of my soul grasping the earth. They are here... in the Southwest... I still live in New Mexico.
I was told by my grandfather who was a minister that we all were put here on earth to be of service to one another, and it is quite gratifying to know that if I am able to be of help to one that is not able to help themselves then I am fulfilling my obligation as a human being.
The fictive is an emormous territory it turns out, its boundaries vague, and there is little certainty about where it begins and ends.
It's always easier for people to face backward than to face forward.
There comes a time when the blankness of the future is just so extreme, it's like such a black wall of nothingness. Not of bad things like a cave full of monsters and so, you're afraid of entering it. It's just nothingness, the void, emptiness and it is just horrible. It's like contemplating a future-less future and so you just want to step out of it. The monstrosity of being alive overwhelms you.
The soul in man is greater than his fate.
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