clarice lispector bot
@c_lispector_bot
Bot posting snippets (in English) from Clarice Lispector's translated novels (DM to know the source of a post)
And as after an intense attack of vomiting, my forehead was relieved, fresh and cold. No longer even fear, no longer even fright.
We got dressed again, our clothes stiff with salt. My salty hair stuck to my head. Then we would wait in the wind for the tram back to Recife
It was out of hatred that there wasn’t water. Nothing was flowing
Do you want to see it with me? Landscape where this music happens? air, green stems, the spread-out sea, silence of a Sunday morning. A slender man with only one foot has one great transparent eye in the middle of his forehead
Hold my hand, I reached the irreducible with the inevitability of a death-knell — I sense that all this is ancient and vast, I sense in the hieroglyph of the slow roach the writing of the Far East. And in this desert of great seductions, the creatures: I and the living roach
All in a single dizziness. And the sweetness is such that it causes an unbearable itch in the soul
This would happen so often that she modestly started to consider herself the leaves’ chosen one. With fleeting gestures, she’d pluck the leaf from her hair and stow it in her purse, like the tiniest diamond
It was an Englishman who did the calculation; I don’t know his name. A year has 365 days—or rather, 8,760 hours. That’s not a joke
It was hunting season. In fact restless bitches were advancing without owners among the bamboo on the beach. While Lucas was working, Lucrécia would go on lots of walks. The countryside dotted with small gleamings, with black streaks — and the cow
“Isn’t it better not to talk about God at a time like this?”
She stared back at him, looking thoughtful and enigmatic with the merest trace of a smile lurking beneath the surface. Joana felt inhibited, became insignificant and dull before that radiant complexion
She would be the one to decide what we would eat for lunch and supper—meals would become a delightful surprise for me. And, of course, my papers would be in order
But not-understanding had no frontiers and led to the infinite, to the God. It wasn’t a not-understanding like that of a simpleton
“I love you, people,” was an impossible phrase. Humanity for her was like eternal death that nevertheless hadn’t had the relief of finally dying
I went to meet myself. Calm, joyful, fullness without fulmination
And the hens, what were they doing? Wondered the girl. The roosters at least sang
I could still see her striding along the beach, her expression sullen and remote. The oddest thing of all, Alfredo, is that there couldn't have been any beach
I miss some things. I miss my sons, yes, flesh of my flesh
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