the meaning of saudade
Clarice Lispector (1920-1977) is an extraordinary Brazilian writer of Jewish descent. The stream of consciousness in her writings is superb and searches the depths of the soul.
From her crônicas, a typically Brazilian journalistic text on any aspect of life in general:
"Saudade" is a little like hunger; only when one eats the presence is one satisfied. But sometimes this longing is so intense that even their presence is not enough - one needs to absorb the other completely. This urge to be someone else in order to be one with them is one of the most demanding feelings in life.
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And I learned that Dr. Lourival, on reading my dedication, said, "Clarice gives so much to others, and yet she asks for permission to exist." Yes, Dr. Lourival, I humbly ask to exist and humbly beg for some joy, for something to be thankful for; I pray that I may be allowed to live a life with less suffering; I ask for fewer trials, fewer rough times; I ask men and women to treat me like a human being worthy of some love and respect. I ask for the blessing of life.
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I’m so mysterious I cannot understand myself.
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It's so hard to change. Sometimes I bleed.
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Those who can’t stop putting things in order outwardly are inwardly messed up and need some kind of safe haven to counter their insecurity.
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The reader is a curious, strange character. At the same time that he or she is a fully autonomous individual with personal reactions, in being so closely connected with the writer the reader is, in fact, the writer.
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I did not attend his funeral. Because not everyone dies.
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I don't want to be dead before I die.
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Most people are dead, but they're not aware of it - or maybe they just pretend to be alive.
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Acknowledging his often vain attempt to fight... I do respect a man who cries. I have seen men cry.
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In order to see blue, we look at the sky. Now from space, the Earth is blue. I wonder if blue is a color or rather a matter of distance. Or perhaps a sense of great nostalgia? The unreachable is always blue...
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We have smiled in public at things which don't make us smile in private. We have called candor weakness. We have feared one another above all things. Is that what we call our daily victory?
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If you win a victory, it's a victory over yourself.
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I was completely frank and told my maid she wouldn't like any of my books because they were a bit complicated. It was then that, as she kept tidying up the room, in an even lower voice she replied: "I like complicated things. I don't like sugar water."
...
I did not attend his funeral. Because not everyone dies.
...
I don't want to be dead before I die.
...
Most people are dead, but they're not aware of it - or maybe they just pretend to be alive.
...
Acknowledging his often vain attempt to fight... I do respect a man who cries. I have seen men cry.
...
In order to see blue, we look at the sky. Now from space, the Earth is blue. I wonder if blue is a color or rather a matter of distance. Or perhaps a sense of great nostalgia? The unreachable is always blue...
...
We have smiled in public at things which don't make us smile in private. We have called candor weakness. We have feared one another above all things. Is that what we call our daily victory?
...
If you win a victory, it's a victory over yourself.
...
I was completely frank and told my maid she wouldn't like any of my books because they were a bit complicated. It was then that, as she kept tidying up the room, in an even lower voice she replied: "I like complicated things. I don't like sugar water."
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