A love thought: I love you so much that I could wish I had been born your brother, or had brought you into the world myself.
CESARE PAVESEA love thought: I love you so much that I could wish I had been born your brother, or had brought you into the world myself.
CESARE PAVESEThe 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.
CESARE PAVESEFor women, history does not exist. Murasaki, Sappho, and Madame Lafayette might be their own contemporaries.
CESARE PAVESEMany men on the point of an edifying death would be furious if they were suddenly restored to health.
CESARE PAVESEIf you wish to travel far and fast, travel light. Take off all your envies, jealousies, unforgiveness, selfishness and fears.
CESARE PAVESEI 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.
CESARE PAVESEYou cannot insult a man more atrociously than by refusing to believe he is suffering .
CESARE PAVESEWe must never say, even in fun, that we are disheartened, because someone might take us at our word.
CESARE PAVESEAll sins have their origin in a sense of inferiority otherwise called ambition.
CESARE PAVESEHere’s the difficulty about suicide: it is an act of ambition that can be committed only when one has passed beyond ambition.
CESARE PAVESESuicides are timid murderers. Masochism instead of Sadism.
CESARE PAVESEWhy does a man who is truly in love insist that this relationship must continue and be “lifelong”? Because life is pain and the enjoyment of love is an anesthetic. Who would want to wake up halfway through an operation?
CESARE PAVESEWe do not free ourselves from something by avoiding it, but only by living though it.
CESARE PAVESELove is the cheapest of religions.
CESARE PAVESEWoman gives herself as a prize to the weak and as a prop to the strong and no man ever has what he should.
CESARE PAVESEThe 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.
CESARE PAVESE