Most if not all man live a contemptible
life: contemptible in all its joys, and contemptible in almost all
its sorrows, except those that have to do with death, since Mystery
plays a part in these. (...)
And it's extraordinary to think that,
if I were asked right now what I want for this short life, I could
think of nothing better than these long, slow minutes, this absence
of thought and emotion, of action and almost of sensation itself,
this inner sunset of dissipated desire. And than it occurs to me,
almost without thinking, that most if not all man live like this,
with greater or lesser consciousness, moving forward or standing
still, but with the very same indifference towards ultimate aims, the
same renunciation of their personal goals, the same water-down life.
Whenever I see cat lying in the sun, I think of humanity. Whenever I
see someone sleep, I remember that everything is slumber. Whenever
someone tells me he dreamed, I wonder if he realizes that he hes
never done anything but dream.
Fernando Pessoa
The Book of Disquiet
translation: Richard Zenith
p. 324-325
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