It’s pointless to cry. One is born and dies alone.
CESARE PAVESEA decision, an action, are infallible omens of what we shall do another time, not for any vague, mystic, astrological reason but because they result from an automatic reaction that will repeat itself.
More Cesare Pavese Quotes
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But here’s the worst part: the trick to life lies in hiding from those we hold most dear how much they mean to is; if not, we’d lose them.
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Living is like working out a long addition sum, and if you make a mistake in the first two totals you will never find the right answer. It means involving oneself in a complicated chain of circumstances.
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Perfect behaviour is born of complete indifference.
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A decision, an action, are infallible omens of what we shall do another time, not for any vague, mystic, astrological reason but because they result from an automatic reaction that will repeat itself.
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We do not free ourselves from something by avoiding it, but only by living though it.
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I thought of how many places there are in the world that belong in this way to someone, who has it in his blood beyond anyone else’s understanding.
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Writing is a fine thing, because it combines the two pleasures of talking to yourself and talking to a crowd.
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The act the act must not be a revenge. It must be a calm, weary renunciation, a closing of accounts, a private, rhythmic deed. The last remark.
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If it is true that one gets used to suffering, how is it that as the years go one always suffers more? No, they are not mad, those people who amuse themselves, enjoy life, travel, make love, fight they are not mad. We should like to do the same ourselves.
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Remember, writing poetry is like making love: one will never know whether one’s own pleasure is shared.
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There is mercy for everyone, except those who are bored with life.
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Great 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.
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The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.
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The cadence of suffering has begun. Every evening at dusk, my heart constricts until night has come.
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For women, history does not exist. Murasaki, Sappho, and Madame Lafayette might be their own contemporaries.
CESARE PAVESE