The Voyage I Never Made in The Book of Disquiet – Fernando Pessoa (1998)

I didn’t set out from any port I knew. Even today I don’t know what port it was, for I’ve still never been there. And besides, the ritual purpose of my journey was to go in search of non-existent ports – ports that would be merely putting-in at ports; forgotten inlets of rivers, straights running through irreproachably unreal cities.

Thus I cast off, like the two arms of an embrace, the two huge tediums that squeeze me – the tedium of being able to only live in the Real, and the tedium of being able to conceive only the Possible…

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