One must look for one thing only, to find many.
CESARE PAVESEGreat lovers will always be unhappy, because, for them, love is of supreme importance. Consequently they demand of their beloved the same intensity of thought as they have for her, otherwise they feel betrayed.
More Cesare Pavese Quotes
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The art of living is the art of knowing how to believe lies. The fearful thing about it is that, not knowing what truth may be, we can still recognize lies.
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The man who cannot live with charity, sharing other men’s pain, is punished by feeling his own with intolerable anguish.
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It is not the actual enjoyment of pleasure that we desire. What we want is to test the futility of that pleasure, so as to be no longer obsessed by it.
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The only reason why we are always thinking of our own ego is that we have to live with it more continuously than with anyone else’s.
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The search for a new personality is futile; what is fruitful is the interest the old personality can take in new activities.
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There comes a day when, for someone who has persecuted us, we feel only indifference, a weariness at his stupidity. Then we forgive him.
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Those philosophers who believe in the absolute logic of truth have never had to discuss it on close terms with a woman.
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A man is never completely alone in this world. At the worst, he has the company of a boy, a youth, and by and by a grown man – the one he used to be.
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We care so little of other people than even Christianity urges us to do good for the love of God.
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You will hear words old and spent and useless like costumes left over from yesterday’s parties.
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In general, the man who is readily disposed to sacrifice himself is one who does not know how else to give meaning to his life. The profession of enthusiasm is the most sickening of all insincerities.
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The problems that agitate one generation are exstinguished for the next, not because they have been solved but because the general lack of interest sweeps them away.
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A corpse is what’s left after waking too often.
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The face of the night will be an old wound that reopens each evening, impassive and living. The distant silence will ache like a soul, mute, in the dark. We’ll speak to the night as it’s whispering softly.
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Give me the ready hand rather than the ready tongue.
CESARE PAVESE