There are no more despicable human models than those who, when faced with real or imaginary inferiority, make a point of humiliating. Words are lacking… Such a manifestation of bad nature only occurs in vile spirits, deserving of the fullest contempt in all spheres. The satisfaction they derive from this arrogance, which seems to elevate their sense of importance, should, in a just world, be followed by a humiliation so complete that it would forbid, until the end of their lives, the mere idea that they might perhaps be superior to someone else in something.
Category: Notes
Few Things Are as Delightful…
Few things are as delightful as planning and foreseeing, in this act, everything happening as foreseen. And then allow oneself to sail on the placid waters of optimism, rejoicing in advance because the planning will go well. What a satisfaction! The best thing is to always be able to do it, and always enjoy this expansive and invigorating feeling that only innocence is capable of delivering.
Literature Does Not Need Readers
Literature, contrary to what it may seem, does not need readers in order for it to survive. In fact, it does not need any readers, ever—a handful of true artists is enough. As long as there is someone, like Pessoa, who sees in Antero a brother in spirit, literature will endure. And it does not matter that humanity does not know these men, that the overwhelming majority will never hear a word about them: all it takes is for one of them to be born, and fulfill the mission of putting another link in the chain.
The Flame of Vocation
Perhaps it is really impossible to explain to an imbecile indoctrinated in psychoanalysis, who has devoted his entire life to the meanest interests, cultivated the most futile relationships, and has never witnessed a noble act, a courageous act of assumption that goes against what is convenient what this flame is, this active impulse that, once manifested in the spirit, draws a dividing line in the life of the one who experiences it. And it is also inevitable that a subject like the former uses the lens he possesses to judge others’ actions: how else could he do it? So the insult itself is inevitable, and perhaps has to be forgiven because it originates from an involuntary and insurmountable misunderstanding. On one side, we have an unbreakable resolution, a spirit willing to the ultimate consequences and to give up everything for the mission that seems to him the purpose of existence; we have a transformation sometimes so complete that it nullifies any identification with the past. On the other side, we have an ordinary man.