The principle tragedy of my life is, like all tragedies, an irony of Destiny. I reject real life as if it were a condemnation; I reject dreams as if they were an ignoble liberation. [...]After the end of the stars uselessly whitened in the morning sky and the breeze became less cold in the barely orange tinged in the yellow of the light on the scattered low clouds, I, who hadn't slept, could finally, slowly raise my body, exhausted from nothing from the bed from which I had thought the universe.
Interpretation
The quote explores the irony of existence, reflecting on the rejection of both reality and dreams due to their inherent tragedies.
Fernando Pessoa's quote delves into the existential struggles of life, where the speaker grapples with the profound irony that pervades both their reality and dreams. It captures a sense of weariness and disillusionment, portraying a state of exhaustion not from physical labor but from the overwhelming contemplation of existence itself, highlighting how the beauty of the world can simultaneously evoke feelings of despair and futility.
In practice
In a speech about the complexities of life at a philosophy seminar.
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.
The wealth that cannot be administered is a burden.
The display of grief makes more demands than grief itself. How few men are sad in their own company.
So the unwanting soul sees what's hidden, and the ever-wanting soul sees only what it wants.
We prefer self-government with danger to servitude in tranquility.
That anyone who possesses power has a tendency to abuse it is an eternal truth. They tend to go as far as the barriers will allow.
I've always had a compassion for characters in novels - the sense that they are, whatever they might think, living in a world that has a shape they don't know and can't finally alter.
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