clarice lispector bot

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Bot posting snippets (in English) from Clarice Lispector's translated novels

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

I don’t know, I don’t know. Since the thing can never really be touched

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

She watched him beat his fists on the table, maddened, weeping with fury

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

At having suffered, and let us continue to suffer sweetly. Weary sorrow reduced to a tear

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

I’ll have to make the effort to translate telegraph signals — to translate the unknown into a language I don’t speak, and without even understanding what the signals mean. I shall speak that sleepwalker’s language that would not be a language if I were awake.

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

Then she’d ask her aunt for some medicine. And her aunt would say: “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your liver.” Then, being very close to this favorite aunt, she explained to her who the medicine was for

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

— Oh, never! — she exclaimed very shocked, for she wasn’t fool enough to waste food, as I said.

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

You sense there’s a long dusty road before reaching the resting place of the painting, for in some ways it is ultimately a resting place, and a welcoming one. Even though Gastão Manoel Henrique’s doorways do not open

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

Meantime the music gyrates and develops, they live the dawn, the powerful day, the night, with one constant note in the symphony, that of transformation. This is music which is not sustained by things, by space or time, the same colour as life and death

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

Are there yellow clouds? There are golden ones. I don’t have a story

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

The high, yellow moon gliding across the sky, poor little thing. Gliding, gliding

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

And I give such a profound cry of horror and praise that things shatter at the vibration of my only voice. Collision of stars

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

No, during all that I hadn’t been crazy or beside myself

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

She’d never forget that when they first met he’d called her “missy," he’d made her a somebody. Since she was a somebody, she’d even bought a pink lipstick

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

You know what I mean, a little darkness and then plenty of fresh air; your whole body benefits, receives a new lease of life. Just like a neglected child

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

None of the figures was connected, and the three did not form a group: each figure looked forward, as if they’d never looked to the side, as if they’d never seen each other and didn’t know anyone existed beside them.

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

— I don’t like to see blood at the movies

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

“Scream,” I calmly ordered myself

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

From its bulk and slowness, it had to be a very old cockroach. With my archaic horror of cockroaches I’d learned to guess, even from a distance, their ages and dangers; even without ever having really looked a cockroach in the face I knew the ways they existed.

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

And because I myself was then sure I would end up dying of starvation beneath the fallen stone that was pinning me by my limbs — I then saw like someone who is never going to tell. I saw, as uninvolved as someone who isn’t even going to tell herself

[clarice lispector bot @c_lispector_bot]

The square. What a sight