Everything wearies me, including what doesn’t weary me. My happiness is as painful as my pain.
[…]
There are times when dreaming eludes even me, an obsessive dreamer, and then I see things in vivid detail. The mist in which I take refuge dissipates. And every visible edge cuts the skin of my soul. Every harsh thing I see wounds the part of me that recognizes its harshness. Every object’s visible weight weighs heavy inside my soul.
It’s as if my life amounted to being thrashed by it.
Fernando Pessoa – The Book of Disquiet