All strings of our sensibility, even
the most pleasant ones, are bound to disturb the inner life of that
same sensibility. Tiny concerns as well as large worries distract us
from ourselves, hindering the peace of mind we all aspire to, whether
we know it or not.
We almost always live outside
ourselves, and life itself is a continual dispersion. But it's
towards ourselves that we tend, as towards a center around which,
like planets, we trace absurd and distant ellipses.
*
I'm elder than Time and Space, because
I'm conscious. Things derive from me; the whole of Nature is the
offspring of my sensations.
Fernando Pessoa
The Book of Disquiet
translation: Richard Zenith
p. 190
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