60 messages and quotes of Brazilian writers showing the national female strength

By: Tranoniq.com

What was the last national book written by a woman you read? How many renowned authors do you know? If you have had difficulty answering these two questions, then it is more than time to dive into the national writings of amazing women! For this, check out these messages and quotes of Brazilian writers and broaden your literary knowledge!

messages and quotes of Brazilian writers for those who are passionate about national female literature

It’s funny that there is no real place to live. Everything is land of others, where others are happy.

The mystery of human destiny is that we are fatal, but we have the freedom to fulfill or not our fatal: of us depends on our fatal destiny.

With all the forgiveness of the word, I am a mystery to me.

If in an instant is born and a moment is died, a moment is enough for life.

I learned from spring to let me cut and come back always.

We are thirsty for infinity and permanence, so this being that ensures the permanence of things is that I call God. It’s the absolute.

I sing because the moment exists and my life is complete. I’m not happy or I’m sad: I’m a poet.

My mother found study the thinner thing in the world. It is not. The finest thing in the world is the feeling.

In the past what was opposed man was the word Calvary; Today is salary.

What memory loves becomes eternal. I love you with the memory, imperishable.

Rich children play in the gardens with their favorite toys. And poor children accompany mothers to ask for alms on the streets. What tragic inequalities and what a joke of fate.

I climbed the mountain of life removing stones and planting flowers.

Life is equal to a book. Only after reading do we know how it ends.

I effort to be better every day. For goodness is also learned.

hurts, it always hurts. It just doesn’t hurt after being killed. Because all life is a hurt.

more hope in my steps than sadness on my shoulders.

Pity supposes a condition of superiority and we can only pity those who suffer more than us.

I am these people who hurt all because it does not only live on the surface of things.

since it is necessary to accept life, then be boldly.

If love in their absolute donation makes them more fragile, at the same time protects them as an armor.

The shorter distance between two points may be the straight line, but it is in curved paths that there are the best things in life.

Your body is a canoe where I go down below, death above looking for the wreck giving me the drift.

Love is not crazy. You know very well what you do, and never, never, act for no reason. Crazy we are, who insist on wanting to understand it in the plan of reason.

Human beings often say one thing and think another, pretend to be what they are not, simulate their intentions.

I love you even that it fulminates or punches in my face makes me less bone and more true.

There are dreams that should be resonated, projects that cannot be forgotten.

The sea wandered under my thoughts. Bravia memory throws the helm: remembering is necessary.

To live is to sink into each walk.

When I bite the word, please do not hurry, I want to chew, tear between my teeth, the skin, the bones, the tutanus of the verb, to be versed the core of things.

The issue of black, the indigenous issue, are not questions for people who are victims to solve. Are for the nation to solve.

Anguish is clogged speech.

Women and children are the first who give up sinking ships.

I die and remove in the life that passes. I hear your steps. Infernal compass. I was born to life. Of death I lived, but it all ends. Silence. Mori.

What happened to us, what has not happened to us have the same weight in the poem.

Who remembered to put on the table these sweet evidence of death?

Does the firefly blink in pain? If I could shine in pain I would be a scandal.

We are increasingly young in the photographs. From behind the memory reads the day.

I keep thinking when we realize that we will not work.

Heaven keeps the living part of the person, that thing that never dies, not the longing, the longing is love and the living, I am talking about the living thing that is dead.

Who does not aspire the intensity of a feeling that carbonizes before knowing the finitude?

Work is so many times the greatest sadness of a person’s life and it is just what certain parents think, in the child growing and being someone being that this being someone involves anything but being.

The raw disrespects that I suffer are so many, so many weeping, that I live to cry. It is so much agony, so slow and felt that it steals my life, never ending.

Human being is a pilgrim. It is only in the appearance that it has a geography.

of all that hurts the most, how much pain that is worth neither weeping nor moans, are immense, pure, saints, despised – or misunderstood affections.

Untine the nodes that entail acts and motives. Do things on impulse. Why? Because sometimes it is good for us to show yourself who sends here.

Time does not heal everything. In fact, time does not cure anything, time only takes the incurable from the center of attention.

It’s so much hypocrisy, so many empty people, so much useless subject, that I have been lazy to meet people.

Love is a disease. I feel nauseous, fevers, muscle aches. I wake up scared in the middle of the night. I cry for nothing.

This train from dying from where she left alive was her whole life what she was and is.

My grandfather did not like August, said August month of disgust. When I passed, I said “now I don’t die anymore”.

The woman is basically to be a housing development, all the same, all towed, only changes the color. Particularly, I am a woman of bricks in sight.

So I want to dive to heal my love that I do not have yet and do not feel the longing that does not even exist.

Let the words say what they want and not what we want them to say. Just a little bit, please.

The experience of loneliness could lead a creature to do unexpected, unlikely, even extreme things.

Words that do not say to the dead burn in their mouths forever.

Silence is filled with sounds. It’s like white, where all colors are added.

When I write in I feel a profound desire that the words and questions that are expensive to live to live in the world and can be shared and revived.

Tell me about how hard it is and not even beer is paid and not even writing is created. Tell me.

In those years of pilgrimage turns out to everything on the way and had mercy, because sometimes it does not even free the man to go crazy. The demon is an artist. Few escape from Satan’s mistakes.

Perhaps suspects that looking out of the lives of others a completeness film; the illusion that, in the other, each feeling always has the right size.

To expand literary horizons and make room for writers of different genres, ethnicities and nationalities is to know the world about different perspectives! If you like foreign literature loaded with social criticism, then enjoy and check out these messages and quotes by Angela Davis who will bring several reflections.

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