sábado, 5 de febrero de 2011

I am having one of those days in which I never had a future. 
There is only a present, fixed and surrounded by a wall of 
anguish. The other bank of the river, because it is the 
other bank, is never the bank we are standing on: that is 
the intimate reason for all my suffering. There are ships 
sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes where life 
is not painful; nor is there any port of call where it is 
possible to forget. All of this happened a long time ago, 
but my sadness began even before then. 
- The Book of Disquiet, Fernando Pessoa

No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario

pato(s) amarillo(s) o naranja(s) firma(n) esta entrada