To realise a dream it is necessary to forget it, to distract one's attention from it. That's why to realise something is not to realise it. Life is full of paradoxes as roses are of thorns.
What I would like to create is the apotheosis of a new incoherence that could become the negative constitution of the new anarchy of souls. I have always thought it would be useful to humanity for me to compile a digest of my dreams. That's why I have constantly striven to do so. However, the idea that something I did could prove useful hurt me, silenced me.
I own country estates on the outskirts of life. I spend my absences from the city of my Actions amongst the trees and flowers of my daydreams. Not even the faintest echo of the life led by my gestures reaches my green and pleasant retreats. I sleep my memory as if it were an endless procession marching past. From the chalices of my meditation I drink only the […] of the palest wine; I drink it with my eyes only, then close them, and life passes me by like a distant candle.
To me sunny days savour of all I do not have. The blue sky and the white clouds, the trees, the flute that does not play there - eclogues interrupted by the trembling of branches… All this and the silent harp whose strings I lightly brush.
[The Book of Disquiet, Pessoa, F.]
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