The passion according to G.H. Clarice Lispector

Am I disorganised because I lost something I didn't need? In this new cowardice of mine - cowardice is the newest thing to happen to me, it's my greatest adventure, this cowardice of mine is a field so wide that only the great courage leads me to accept it - in my new cowardice, which is like waking one morning in a foreigner's house, I don't know if I'll have the courage just to go. It's hard to get lost. It's so hard that I'll probably quickly figure out some way to find myself, even if finding myself is once again my vital lie.

Until now finding myself was already having an idea of a person and fitting myself into it: I'd incarnate myself into this organised person, and didn't even feel the great effort of construction that is living. The idea I had of what a person is came from my third leg, the one that pinned me to the ground. But, and now? Will I be freer?

Translated from Portuguese by Idra Novey