It’s the poet we love in Caeiro, not the philosopher. What we really get from these poems is a childlike sense of life, with all the direct materiality of the child’s mind, and all the vital spirituality of hope and increase that exist in the body and soul of nescient childhood. Caeiro’s work is a dawn that wakes us up and quickens us; a more that material, more than anti-spiritual dawn. It’s an abstract effect, pure vacuum, nothingness.

When flash of hope scans through your dreams. When news of goodness skims the surface of your expectations and bravery abates, break not, keep pressing less the dreams of your fingers suffer extinction.

When things don’t add up, either you don’t have a calculator or you forgot to use commonsense by simply asking.

She wasn't stupid. She just didn't want to put her neuron power into long sentences.

There are so many random questions in life, but the important ones harldy have a random answer.