meaning of my life,
you are not here.
i search for other meanings
whatever they mean...

but it's not the same thing:
all is nothing,
all is meaningless,
without you...

I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell!
They ’d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.

Freedom

Oh, what a pleasure
not to follow a duty!
To have a book
and not read it!
Reading is boring.
Studying is nothing.
The sun shines without literature.
Rivers run without original editions.
And the breeze, so natural to the morning, has plenty of time, and no rush...

Books are papers painted with ink.
Studying is something that can´t distinguish nihil from nothing.

The best is the mist.
It doesn´t matter if Dom Sebastião will ever come back.

Great is the poetry, goodness, and the dances.
But the best in this world are the children,
Flowers, Music, Moonlight, and the Sun, whose only flaw
is sometimes burning instead of making life bloom.

And more than anything else, Jesus Christ,
who didn´t know anything about finances,
and never owned a library.

Fernando Pessoa - Cancioneiro - 16/03/1935

ENIVREZ-VOUS

Il faut être toujours ivre. Tout est là : c'est l'unique question. Pour ne pas sentir l'horrible fardeau du Temps qui brise vos épaules et vous penche vers la terre, il faut vous enivrer sans trêve. Mais de quoi? De vin, de poésie, ou de vertu, à votre guise. Mais enivrez-vous! Et si quelquefois, sur les marches d'un palais, sur l'herbe verte d'un fossé, dans la solitude morne de votre chambre, vous vous réveillez, l'ivresse déjà diminuée ou disparue, demandez au vent, à la vague, à l'étoile, à l'oiseau, à l'horloge, à tout ce qui fuit, à tout ce qui gémit, à tout ce qui roule, à tout ce qui chante, à tout ce qui parle, demandez quelle heure il est; et le vent, la vague, l'étoile, l'oiseau, l'horloge, vous répondront : « Il est l'heure de s'enivrer! Pour n’être pas les esclaves martyrisés du Temps, enivrez-vous; enivrez-vous sans cesse! De vin, de poésie ou de vertu, à votre guise.

Charles Baudelaire - Petits poèmes en prose (le spleen de Paris)

possible translation:

Get Drunk!

Always be drunk.That's it! The great imperative! In order not to feel time's horrid fardel bruise your shoulders, grinding you into the earth, get drunk and stay that way. On what? On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever. But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up on the porches of a palace, in the green grass of a ditch, in the dismal loneliness of your own room, your drunkenness gone or disappearing, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, ask everything that flees, everything that groans or rolls or sings, everything that speaks, ask what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will answer you: "Time to get drunk! Don't be martyred slaves of Time, get drunk! Stay drunk! On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!"