Antonio Porchia (1886 – 1968)
Argentinian writer and poet.
Reason is lost reasoning.
A hundred men together are the hundredth part of man.
What I say to myself - who says it? Who does he say it to?
When everything is done, the mornings are sad.
And if nothing is repeated in the same way, all things are last things.
When the superficial wearies me, it wearies me so much that I need an abyss in order to rest.
In its last moment, the whole of my life will last only a moment.
There are sufferings that have lost their memory and do not remember why they are suffering.
Everyone thinks that their things are not like all the other things in the world, and that is why everyone keeps them.
God has given a great deal to man, but man would like something from man.
Only the wound speaks its own word.
I love you as you are, but do not tell me how that is.
When his eyes dimmed, I too saw a shadow.
Truth has very few friends and those few are suicides.
My self has been moving away from me. Today it is my farthest you.
When you made me into another, I left you with me.
My great day came and went, I do not know how. Because it did not pass through dawn when it came, nor through dusk when it went.
Everything had been stripped of deceptions, that time. And that time I was afraid of everything.
We don’t forgive being as we are.
To the best of refuges I prefer their doorways.