I make landscapes out of what I feel. I make holidays of my sensations. I can easily understand women who embroider out of sorrow or who crochet because life exists. My elderly aunt would play solitaire throughout the endless evening. These confessions of what I feel are my solitaire. I don’t interpret them like those who read cards to tell the future. I don’t probe them, because in solitaire the cards don’t have any special significance. I unwind myself like a multicoloured skein, or I make string figures of myself, like those woven on spread fingers and passed from child to child. I only take care that my thumb not miss its loop. Then I turn over my hand and the figure changes. And I start over.
— Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
- 100 People Succeeding Is A Signal
- 100% Passion Or Nothing
- A Book Must Be The Ax That Breaks The Frozen Sea Within Us
- A Day Grows Old As We Do
- A Day Will Come At Last When I Shall Take The Hidden Paths
- A Good Date Shake Should Be A Little Trashy
- A Good Traveler Has No Fixed Plans
- A Good Traveler Is One Who Does Not Know Where He Is Going
- A Green Skin Growing Over Whatever Winter Did To Us
- A Hour Of Thinking Can Save You A Decade Of Work
- A Hundred Years From Now?
- A Lion Is Called A King Of The Beasts Obviously For A Reason
- A Man Is Destroyed By The Duck Nibblings of Nagging, Small Bills, Telephones, Athletes Foot
- A Man Must Find Time for Himself
- A Moment of Silence
- A Nimbus-Clouded Voice Directed Me
- A Person Would Almost Always Rather Be Happy
- A Quest To Italicize A Period Does Not Need Anyone’s Approval
- A Return To The Strange Idea Of Continuous Living
- A Week Is More Than Enough Time For Us To Decide Whether Or Not To Accept Our Destiny
- A Week Is More Than Enough Time To Decide Whether Or Not To Accept Our Destiny
- About This Path, I Chose It
