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PAULO COELHO

Stories & Reflections

* Home
* Stories & Reflections
* Paulo Coelho Foundation
* Agency and Press

Recent Posts

MY WRITING TIPS

DATE: 13/09/2022

AUTHOR: PAULO COELHO

On Confidence
You cannot sell your next book by underrating your book that was just published.
Be proud of what you have.
On Trust
Trust your reader, don’t try to describe things. Give a hint and they will
fulfill this hint with their own imagination.
On Expertise
You cannot take something out of nothing. When you write a book, use your
experience.
On Critics
Some writers want to please their peers, they want to be “recognized”. This
shows insecurity and nothing else, please forget about this. You should care to
share your soul and not to please other writers.
On Taking notes
If you want to capture ideas, you are lost. You are going to be detached from
emotions and forget to live your life. You will be an observer and not a human
being living his or her life. Forget taking notes. What is important remains,
what is not important goes away.
On Research
If you overload your book with a lot of research, you are going to be very
boring to yourself and to your reader. Books are not there to show how
intelligent you are. Books are there to show your soul.
On Writing
I write the book that wants to be written. Behind the first sentence is a thread
that takes you to the last.
On Style
Don’t try to innovate storytelling, tell a good story and it is magical. I see
people trying to work so much in style, finding different ways to tell the same
thing. It’s like fashion. Style is the dress, but the dress does not dictate
what is inside the dress.

HOW PAULO COELHO BECAME ONE OF THE RICHEST AND MOST LEGENDARY WRITERS EVER

DATE: 01/08/2022

AUTHOR: PAULO COELHO

With his unique style and story-telling abilities, Paulo Coelho has become one
of the most celebrated literary figures. By Param Davies Published 2022-07-29
Paulo Coelho is one of the most well-known authors in literary history. And
much like his creative works, his personal story is full of twists and turns.
When Paulo Coelho […]

WITH HIS UNIQUE STYLE AND STORY-TELLING ABILITIES, PAULO COELHO HAS BECOME ONE
OF THE MOST CELEBRATED LITERARY FIGURES.

By Param Davies Published 2022-07-29

Paulo Coelho is one of the most well-known authors in literary history. And much
like his creative works, his personal story is full of twists and turns. When
Paulo Coelho told his parents he aspired to be a writer, they thought he was
physically insane. Paulo Coelho was born on August 24, 1947, and raised in Rio
de Janeiro, Brazil. He is most known for using complex symbolism to depict the
journeys of his characters, who are typically motivated by spiritual beliefs.
Paulo Coelho revisits ancient legends and remote customs in order to evoke
themes of love, the quest for self-knowledge, and the genesis of thought. He
discusses independence and solitude while considering the future of humanity in
his search for safety, love, and spirituality. He is the author of novels that
have been translated into 81 different languages and 170 different countries,
giving him geographical independence. Coelho blatantly distinguishes himself
from other Brazilian authors, with over 210 million copies sold.

Coelho’s novels often explore and delve in the themes of love, self-awareness,
sexual desire, solitude, chasing one’s dreams, and traveling, while weaving
these elements brilliantly with the characters and plots that
more-often-than-not satisfy the soul.

THE UPHEAVAL OF PAULO COELHO’S EARLY LIFE

Rio de Janeiro is where Coelho was nurtured. However, he disobeyed the rules of
his upbringing as a Roman Catholic, so his parents temporarily put him in a
mental institution. In 1970, Coelho left his legal studies to travel around
South America, Mexico, North Africa, and Europe. He returned to his own country
in 1972 and started collaborating with the renowned singer-songwriter Raul
Seixas on pop and rock song lyrics. Coelho served a brief sentence in jail in
1974 for allegedly engaging in subversive actions against the Brazilian
government.

He worked for Polygram and CBS Records upon his release until 1980, when he
started new journeys around Europe and Africa. He traveled the 500 miles (800
km) of routes along the Santiago de Compostela route, which pilgrims from France
to Spain initially utilized in the Middle Ages. This lengthy voyage, influenced
by a resurgence of interest in Catholicism, served as the inspiration for his
debut book, O diário de um Mago (1987), which was translated into English in
1992 and reprinted in 1995 as The Pilgrimage affirmed rightly in the Strive.

The Alchemist, a mystical narrative of an Andalusian shepherd boy’s trek across
North Africa in pursuit of wealth, was published by Coelho in 1988. When the
book was republished in Brazil after being dumped by its first publisher, it was
extremely successful. In one of his books, The Valkyries, he describes a search
to communicate with angels that he and his first wife undertook while they were
young and deeply immersed in the countercultural scene of the 1970s. He once
more went to fiction, this time a story about a young Spanish woman’s spiritual
enlightenment.
Coelho continues to focus both his fiction and nonfiction works on issues of
faith and spirituality. He had previously chronicled the progression of his
return to the Catholic faith in The Pilgrimage and The Valkyries. In addition,
as stated in the Paulo Coelho blog, The Biblical prophet Elijah’s narrative is
retold in The Fifth Mountain, while a collection of spiritual advice from
well-known religious luminaries is presented in Manual of the Warrior of Light
within a fictional setting. Even though Coelho’s books continued to be popular
in Brazil and abroad, reviewers frequently criticized them for being unduly
didactic and moralizing.

THE ELATION OF HIS OTHER EXEMPLARY WORKS AND ESTABLISHMENTS

Coelho also published Life: Selected Quotations (2007), a similar compilation of
English-translated extracts, and Frases (1996), a collection of condensed
passages from his body of work. Additionally, in 1997, Coelho gathered pieces
from his weekly column in the newspaper O Globo into a book named Maktub. Coelho
increased the number of people who read the novels written by him through
blogging, expanding on the concepts he raised in them, and making his works
freely downloadable. To help children and the elderly, he established the Paulo
Coelho Institute in 1996.

THE CHRONICLES OF HIS JOURNEY

Paulo Coelho’s success philosophy, often known as his secret to success, may be
encapsulated in tenacity, self-belief, and having the guts to pursue one’s
ambitions. Coelho never would have taken the initiative to pursue his
aspirations if he had not had faith in himself. Beyond that, he would never have
overcome the first challenges that ordinarily discouraged the unsure if he had
not persevered and believed in his job. Thus, he never would have achieved the
astounding success he currently has without self-belief, the confidence to
follow his heart, and the drive to see it through, as stated in the Strive.

The parable by Paulo Coelho demonstrates that if one has faith in oneself and
sincerely desires something, the universe will work with them to make it happen
if they take action.

PAULO COELHO SAYS

DATE: 21/05/2022

AUTHOR: PAULO COELHO

When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and
willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that
nothing has happened or in saying that we are not ready. The challenge will not
wait. Life does not look back. A week is more than […]

Don’t explain. Your friends do not need it, and your enemies will not believe
you.

But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them.
But it’s better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams
than to be defeated without ever knowing what you’re fighting for. Our true
friends are those who are with us when the good things happen. They cheer us on
and are pleased by our triumphs. False friends only appear at difficult times,
with their sad, supportive faces, when, in fact, our suffering is serving to
console them for their miserable lives.

When someone leaves, it’s because someone else is about to arrive.

Some people appear to be happy, but they simply don’t give the matter much
thought. Others make plans: I’m going to have a husband, a home, two children, a
house in the country. As long as they’re busy doing that, they’re like bulls
looking for the bullfighter: they react instinctively, they blunder on, with no
idea where the target is. They get their car, sometimes they even get a Ferrari,
and they think that’s the meaning of life, and they never question it. Yet their
eyes betray the sadness that even they don’t know they carry in their soul. Are
you happy?

Close some doors today. Not because of pride, incapacity or arrogance, but
simply because they lead you nowhere.

It is always important to know when something has reached its end. Closing
circles, shutting doors, finishing chapters, it doesn’t matter what we call it;
what matters is to leave in the past those moments in life that are over.

Love is always new. Regardless of whether we love once, twice, or a dozen times
in our life, we always face a brand-new situation. Love can consign us to hell
or to paradise, but it always takes us somewhere. We simply have to accept it,
because it is what nourishes our existence. If we reject it, we die of hunger,
because we lack the courage to reach out a hand and pluck the fruit from the
branches of the tree of life. We have to take love where we find it, even if it
means hours, days, weeks of disappointment and sadness. The moment we begin to
seek love, love begins to seek us. And to save us.

It is said that the darkest hour of the night comes just before the dawn.

The world is divided into those who understand me and those who don’t. In the
case of the latter, I simply leave them to torment themselves trying to gain my
sympathy.

Everyone believes that the main aim in life is to follow a plan. They never ask
if that plan is theirs or if it was created by another person. They accumulate
experiences, memories, things, other people’s ideas, and it is more than they
can possibly cope with. And that is why they forget their dreams.

Tragedy always brings about radical change in our lives, a change that is
associated with the same principle: loss. When faced by any loss, there’s no
point in trying to recover what has been; it’s best to take advantage of the
large space that opens up before us and fill it with something new.

I forgive the tears I was made to shed, I forgive the pain and the
disappointments, I forgive the betrayals and the lies, I forgive the slanders
and intrigues, I forgive the hatred and the persecution, I forgive the blows
that hurt me, I forgive the wrecked dreams, I forgive the stillborn hopes, I
forgive the hostility and jealousy, I forgive the indifference and ill will, I
forgive the injustice carried out in the name of justice, I forgive the anger
and the cruelty, I forgive the neglect and the contempt, I forgive the world and
all its evils… I also forgive myself. May the misfortunes of the past no longer
weigh on my heart. Instead of pain and resentment, I choose understanding and
compassion. Instead of rebellion, I choose the music from my violin. Instead of
grief, I choose forgetting. Instead of vengeance, I choose victory. I will be
capable of loving, regardless of whether I am loved in return, of giving, even
when I have nothing, of working happily, even in the midst of difficulties, of
holding out my hand, even when utterly alone and abandoned, of drying my tears,
even while I weep, of believing, even when no one believes in me… So it is. So
it will be.

When I had nothing more to lose, I was given everything. When I ceased to be who
I am, I found myself. When I experienced humiliation and yet kept on walking, I
understood that I was free to choose my destiny.

LORD, I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I AM GOING

DATE: 14/04/2022

AUTHOR: PAULO COELHO

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going, I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and
the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually
doing so. […]

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going,
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.

I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.

I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

in Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton

PAULO COELHO, L’ALCHIMISTE DES PYRENÉES (ARTE TV)

DATE: 01/04/2022

AUTHOR: PAULO COELHO

De ses sommets escarpés jusqu’à sa côte sauvage, le territoire pyrénéen ne se
laisse pas facilement apprivoiser. Lors d’un pèlerinage sur le chemin de
Compostelle, l’écrivain brésilien Paulo Coelho s’égare dans ces montagnes.
Portant en lui un passé douloureux lié à la dictature brésilienne, il se lance
dans une quête existentielle qui aboutira à son […]

Arte TV (version française) (Deutsche Version hier verfügbar)

10 SEC READ THE GIFT OF INSULTS

DATE: 27/03/2022

AUTHOR: PAULO COELHO

Near Tokyo lived a great Samurai warrior, now old, who decided to teach Zen
Buddhism to young people. In spite of his age, the legend was that he could
defeat any adversary. One afternoon, a warrior – known for his complete lack of
scruples – arrived there. He was famous for using techniques of provocation: […]

Near Tokyo lived a great Samurai warrior, now old, who decided to teach Zen
Buddhism to young people. In spite of his age, the legend was that he could
defeat any adversary.

One afternoon, a warrior – known for his complete lack of scruples – arrived
there. He was famous for using techniques of provocation: waiting until his
adversary made the first move and counterattacking with fulminating speed.

All gathered on the town square, and the young man started insulting the old
master. He threw a few rocks in his direction, spat in his face, shouted every
insult under the sun – he even insulted his ancestors. At the end of the
afternoon, by now feeling exhausted and humiliated, the impetuous warrior left.

Disappointed by the fact that the master had received so many insults and
provocations, the students asked:

– How could you bear such indignity? Why didn’t you use your sword, even knowing
you might lose the fight, instead of displaying your cowardice in front of us
all?

– If someone comes to you with a gift, and you do not accept it, who does the
gift belong to? – asked the Samurai.

– He who tried to deliver it – replied one of his disciples.

– The same goes for envy, anger and insults – said the master. – When they are
not accepted, they continue to belong to the one who carried them.

NINJA TRAINING

DATE: 10/03/2022

AUTHOR: PAULO COELHO

The Ninja warriors go to the field where some wheat has just been planted.
Obeying the trainer’s command, they jump over the places where the seeds were
sown. Every day the Ninja warriors return to the field. The seeds turn into
buds, and the warriors jump over them. The buds turn into small plants, […]

The Ninja warriors go to the field where some wheat has just been planted.
Obeying the trainer’s command, they jump over the places where the seeds were
sown.

Every day the Ninja warriors return to the field. The seeds turn into buds, and
the warriors jump over them. The buds turn into small plants, and the warriors
jump over them.

They do not become bored. They do not feel it is a waste of time.

The wheat grows, and the jumps become higher and higher. In this way, when the
plant is ripe, the Ninja warriors still manage to jump over it.

Why? As a result of their jumping over what many may have seen as insignificant,
has allowed them to be keenly aware of their obstacles.

(taken from “Manual of the warrior of the light )

ESCREVI UM LIVRO SOBRE O ASILO MENTAL, PAPAI

DATE: 04/03/2022

AUTHOR: PAULO COELHO

“Entrei num pequeno cubículo, com paredes de ladrilho. Havia uma cama coberta
por uma manta de borracha, e um aparelho com uma manivela na cabeceira.
– Então, vou tomar choque elétrico – disse para o Dr. Benjamim Gaspar Gomes.
– Não se preocupe. – É muito mais traumático ver do que de levar. Não dói nada.
Deitei-me, e o enfermeiro colocou uma espécie de tubo em minha boca, para que
não enrolasse a língua. Depois, colocou dois terminais, parecidos com os
auriculares de telefone, nas minhas têmporas.
Eu estava olhando o teto meio descascado do cubículo, quando escutei rodar a
manivela. No momento seguinte, parecia que uma cortina se fechava diante dos
meus olhos; a visão foi rapidamente se concentrando em apenas um ponto, e tudo
ficou escuro.
O médico tinha razão; não doeu nada”.
A cena que acabo d descrever não faz parte do meu livro, “Veronika decide
morrer”. Eu a escrevi em meu diário, durante minha segunda internação em um
hospital para doentes mentais. Corria o ano de 1966, o Brasil começava a viver o
período negro da ditadura militar (1964-1989), e, por uma reação natural do
mecanismo social, a repressão externa começava a se transformar numa repressão
interna (mais ou menos o que acontece hoje nos EUA, onde ninguém mais olha uma
mulher sem ter um advogado ao lado).
Para tanto, era inadmissível que as boas famílias de classe média aceitassem que
seus filhos ou netos fossem “artistas”. No Brasil daquela época, esta palavra
era sinônimo de homossexual, comunista, drogado e vagabundo.
Aos 18 anos, eu acreditava que o mundo de meus pais e o meu mundo podiam
conviver pacificamente. Fazia o possível para ter boas notas no colégio jesuíta
onde estudava, trabalhava durante a tarde, mas, quando chegava à noite, ia viver
o meu verdadeiro sonho: “ser artista”. Como não sabia exatamente por onde
começar, a única maneira, foi engajando-me num grupo amador de teatro. Embora
jamais tivesse qualquer sonho de atuar profissionalmente, pelo menos estava
entre pessoas com as quais tinha afinidades.
Infelizmente, meus pais não pensavam que dois mundos extremos pudessem conviver.
E um belo dia, depois de uma noite quando cheguei bêbado em casa, fui acordado
por dois enfermeiros musculosos, me olhando.
– Você precisa vir conosco – disse um deles.
Minha mãe chorava, meu pai procurava esconder qualquer emoção.
– É para o seu bem-dizia ele. – Vamos fazer uns exames.
E foi assim que começou minha peregrinação pelos hospitais psiquiátricos. Eu era
internado, passava pelos tratamentos mais diversos, terminava fugindo na
primeira oportunidade, viajava até não aguentar mais, retornava para a casa de
meus pais. Vivíamos um período de lua-de-mel, tornava a entrar para a escola,
logo procurava o que a família chamava de “más companhias”, e de novo os
enfermeiros apareciam.
Existem certos combates na vida que só tem dois resultados possíveis: ou nos
destroem, ou nos fazem mais fortes. O hospital psiquiátrico foi um destes
combates.
Certa noite, conversando com outro interno, eu disse:
“Sabe de uma coisa? Penso que todo homem, em algum momento da vida, já sonhou em
ser presidente da república. Nem você, nem eu, podemos aspirar a isso, porque
nossa biografia não nos deixará.
“Então não temos mais nada a perder” respondeu o interno. “Vamos fazer o que nos
der na cabeça”.
Senti que ele tinha razão. A situação que eu me encontrava era tão inusitada,
tão extrema, que trazia consigo ou aspecto até então desconhecido: a liberdade
total. O esforço que minha família tinha feito para que eu fosse igual a todos,
dera o resultado exatamente oposto: eu agora era uma pessoa completamente
diferente dos meus companheiros de geração.
Naquela mesma noite, analisei meu futuro. Uma das alternativas era ser escritor.
A outra, que me parecia muito mais viável, era tornar-me definitivamente louco.
Seria sustentado pelo Estado, não precisaria trabalhar nunca mais, assumir
qualquer responsabilidade. Claro, teria que passar muitos dias num asilo de
doentes mentais, mas – por experiência própria, eu sabia que os internos não se
comportavam como os loucos de filmes de Hollywood; com exceção dos casos
patológicos como catatonia ou esquizofrenia, todos os outros eram capazes de
discutir sobre a vida com uma rara originalidade em suas avaliações. Vez por
outra tinham ataques de pânico, depressão, agressividade – mas eram passageiros.
O grande perigo que corri no hospital psiquiátrico não foi perder, para sempre,
a possibilidade de ser Presidente da República. Tampouco foi o fato de
considerar-me marginalizado, ou injustiçado pela minha família – porque meu
coração entendia perfeitamente que as internações eram um ato desesperado de
amor, de superproteção. O grande perigo que corri foi achar que a situação que
me encontrara era normal.
Quando saí pela terceira vez, seguindo o famoso ciclo de fuga/ viagem/ volta
para casa/ lua-de-mel com a família/ más companhias/ internação, eu já tinha
quase 20 anos, e me acostumara com este ritmo. Desta vez, porém, alguma coisa
havia mudado.
Apesar de voltar a encontrar-me com as “más companhias”, meus pais estavam
relutando em internar-me de novo; sem que eu soubesse, eles já estavam
convencidos que eu era um caso perdido, e preferiam me ter junto a eles,
sustentando-me pelo resto da vida.
Eu me tornava cada vez pior, mais agressivo, e nada de internação. Houve um
período de alegria, onde procurei exercer minha suposta liberdade para,
finalmente, viver minha vida de “artista”. Larguei o novo emprego que me tinham
conseguido, parei de estudar, dediquei-me exclusivamente ao teatro e aos bares
de intelectuais. Durante um longo ano fiz apenas o que quis até que o grupo de
teatro foi dissolvido pela polícia política, os bares passaram a ser espionados,
os meus contos eram sempre rejeitados pelos editores, nenhuma das meninas que
conhecia tinha qualquer interesse em me namorar – porque eu era um jovem sem
futuro, sem carreira definida, sem mesmo ter entrado em uma universidade.
Então, um belo dia resolvi quebrar todo o meu quarto. Era uma maneira de dizer,
sem palavras: “será que vocês não entendem que eu não posso estar aqui fora? Eu
não vou conseguir trabalhar, eu não vou conseguir realizar meu sonho, eu acho
que vocês têm toda razão! Eu sou louco, e quero voltar para o hospício!”
Como o destino é irônico. Quando terminei de destruir meu quarto, e vi –
aliviado – que ligavam para o hospital psiquiátrico, o médico que sempre cuidava
de mim estava de férias. Mandaram um estagiário com os dois enfermeiros. O
estagiário me viu sentado no meio de uma pilha de livros rasgados, discos
quebrados, cortinas destruídas, e mandou que a família e os enfermeiros saíssem.
– O que é isso? – ele me perguntou.
Eu não respondi. Um louco deve comportar-se como alguém ausente da realidade.
– Deixa de bobagem – disse o estagiário. – Estive lendo seu prontuário, e de
louco você não tem nada. Não vou te internar.
Saiu, receitou uns calmantes, e (eu soube depois) disse aos meus pais que eu
estava tendo a “síndrome da internação”: pessoas normais que por algum momento
viveram uma situação anormal – como depressão, pânico etc. – e passam a utilizar
a doença como a única alternativa da vida. Ou seja, escolhem ser doentes, porque
ser “normal” dá muito trabalho. Meus pais escutaram o conselho, e nunca mais
voltaram a me internar.
A partir daí, o conforto da loucura jamais me seria oferecido de novo. Eu tinha
que lamber minhas feridas sozinho, perder as batalhas, ganhar outras, desistir
muitas vezes do meu sonho impossível, arranjar empregos burocráticos, até que um
dia larguei tudo pela enésima vez, fiz a peregrinação à Santiago de Compostela,
e entendi que não poderia continuar negando sempre enfrentar-me com o meu
destino: “ser artista.” No meu caso específico, ser um escritor. Então, aos 38
anos, decidi escrever o meu primeiro livro, e arriscar-me no combate que
inconscientemente sempre temera: a luta por um sonho.
Consegui um editor, e este livro (“O Diário de um mago”, sobre a experiencia no
Caminho de Santiago) me levou ao “O Alquimista”, que me levou a outros, que me
levou a traduções, que me levou a conferências e palestras no mundo inteiro;
embora estivesse adiando tanto o meu sonho, agora via não era tão impossível
assim, e que o Universo sempre conspira a favor daqueles que lutam pelo que
querem.
Em 1997, no final de um exaustivo tour promocional por três continentes, comecei
a notar algo muito estranho: o que eu havia desejado no dia em que quebrei meu
quarto, parecia ser uma aspiração coletiva. As pessoas preferiam viver num
imenso hospício, seguindo religiosamente regras que ninguém sabe quem criou, ao
invés de lutarem pelo direito de serem diferentes. Numa viagem de avião para
Tokio, vi no jornal o seguinte texto:
De acordo com o centro de estatística de Canada: 40% das pessoas entre 15 e 34
anos, 33% das pessoas entre 35 e 54 anos e 20% das pessoas entre 55 e 64 anos já
tiveram algum tipo de doença mental. Acredita-se que um em cada cinco indivíduos
sofra de algum tipo de transtorno psiquiátrico.
E eu pensei: o Canadá não passou por ditadura militar, é considerado o país com
maior qualidade de vida do mundo, por que será que lá existem tantos loucos? Por
que não estão no hospício?
Esta pergunta me levou à outra: o que é exatamente a loucura?
Encontrei resposta para as duas. A primeira: as pessoas não estão em asilos
porque continuam socialmente produtivas. Desde que você seja capaz de chegar as
9:00 e sair as 17:00 do emprego, você não é considerado incapaz pela sociedade.
Não importa se, das 17:01 até as 8:59 você fique em estado catatônico diante da
televisão, tenha as mais pervertidas fantasias sexuais na Internet, esteja
olhando a parede, culpando o mundo, sentindo-se injustiçado, com pânico de sair
à rua, com excesso de higiene, com falta de higiene, com crises depressivas e
choro compulsivo. Enquanto você for capaz de comparecer ao trabalho e dar sua
cota para a sociedade, você não constitui uma ameaça. Você só ameaça quando o
cálice transborda e, de uma hora para outra, sai na rua com uma metralhadora,
entra num filme infantil, e mata quinze crianças para alertar ao mundo que “Tom
& Jerry” é pernicioso na educação. Enquanto você não fizer isso, você é
condenado um ser normal.
E a loucura? A loucura é a incapacidade de comunicar-se.
Entre a normalidade e a loucura, que no fundo são a mesma coisa, existe um
estado intermediário: chama-se “ser diferente”. E as pessoas estavam cada vez
com mais medo de “ser diferentes”. No Japão, depois de ter pensado muito sobre
as estatísticas que acabara de ler, me veio a ideia de escrever um livro sobre a
minha própria experiencia. Escrevi “Veronika decide morrer” na terceira pessoa,
usando o meu ego feminino, porque sabia que a minha experiencia de internação
não era o que interessava – mas sim os riscos de ser diferente, e o horror de
ser igual.
Quando terminei, fui falar com meu pai. Depois de passado o período difícil da
adolescência e início da minha juventude, meus pais nunca se perdoaram pelo que
fizeram. Eu sempre insistia que tampouco tinha sido algo tão sério, e que a
prisão (também estive preso três vezes, por razões políticas) tinha me marcado
muito mais. Mas meus pais não acreditavam, e viviam se culpando.
– Escrevi um livro sobre o asilo mental – disse ao meu pai de 85 anos. – É um
livro de ficção, mas em duas páginas eu me colocava como personagem. Isso vai
tornar público as minhas internações psiquiátricas.
Meu pai me olhou nos olhos e disse:
– Tem certeza de que isso não vai te prejudicar?
– Tenho, papai.
– Então vá adiante. Eu já estava cansado de guardar segredo.
“Veronika decide morrer” saiu em agosto de 1998 no Brasil. Em setembro, eu tinha
mais de 1.200 e-mails, cartas, narrando experiencias semelhantes. Em outubro,
alguns dos temas tocados no livro – depressão, síndrome do pânico, suicídio –
foram discutidos num seminário com repercussão nacional. Em 22 de Janeiro de
1999, o Senador Eduardo Suplicy, lendo em plenário trechos do meu livro,
conseguiu aprovar uma lei que já transitava há dez anos no Congresso Brasileiro,
proibindo as internações arbitrárias.

“I’VE WRITTEN A BOOK ABOUT A MENTAL INSTITUTION, DAD”

DATE: 04/03/2022

AUTHOR: PAULO COELHO

I entered a tiled cubicle. There was a bed covered with a rubber sheet and
beside the bed some sort of apparatus with a handle.
“So you’re going to give me electric shock treatment,” I said to Dr Benjamim
Gaspar Gomes.
“Don’t worry. It’s far more traumatic watching someone being treated than
actually having the treatment yourself. It doesn’t hurt at all.”
I lay down and the male nurse put a kind of tube in my mouth so that my tongue
wouldn’t roll back. Then, on either temple, he placed two electrodes, rather
like the earpieces of a telephone.
I was looking up at the peeling paint on the ceiling when I heard the handle
being turned. The next moment, a curtain seemed to fall over my eyes; my vision
quickly reduced down to a single point, and then everything went dark.
The doctor was right; it didn’t hurt at all.’

The scene I have just described is not taken from my book, “Veronika Decides to
Die”.
It comes from the diary I wrote during my second stay in a mental hospital.
That was in 1966, the beginning of the blackest period of Brazil’s military
dictatorship (1964-1989), and, as if by some natural reflex of the social
mechanism, that external repression was gradually becoming internalised (not
unlike what is happening in the United States today, where a man doesn’t even
dare look at a woman without having a lawyer by his side). So much so that good
middle-class families found it simply unacceptable that their children or
grandchildren should want to be ‘artists’. In Brazil at the time, the word
‘artist’ was synonymous with homosexual, communist, drug addict and layabout.

When I was 18, I believed that my world and that of my parents could coexist
peacefully. I did my best to get good marks at the Jesuit school where I was
studying, I worked every afternoon, but at night, I wanted to live out my dream
of being an artist. Not knowing quite where to begin, I became involved in an
amateur theatre group. Although I had no desire to act professionally, at least
I was amongst people with whom I felt some affinity.

Unfortunately, my parents did not share my belief in the peaceful coexistence of
two such diametrically opposed worlds. One night, I came home drunk, and the
following morning, I was woken by two burly male nurses.
‘You’re coming with us,’ one of them said.
My mother was crying, and my father was doing his best to hide any feelings he
might have.
‘It’s for your own good,’ he said. ‘We’re just going to have some tests done.’

And thus began my journey through various psychiatric hospitals. I was admitted,
I was given all kinds of different treatments, and I ran away at the first
opportunity, travelling around for as long as I could bear it, then going back
to my parents’ house. We enjoyed a kind of honeymoon period, but, after a while,
I again started to get into what my family called ‘bad company’, and the nurses
reappeared.

There are some battles in life that have only two possible outcomes: they either
destroy us or they make us strong. The psychiatric hospital was one such battle.

One night, talking to another patient, I said:
‘You know, I think nearly everyone, at some point in his life, has dreamed of
being President of the Republic. But neither you nor I can ever aspire to that,
because our medical record won’t let us.’
‘Then we’ve got nothing to lose,’ said the other man. ‘We can just do whatever
we want to do.’

It seemed to me he was right. The situation I found myself in was so strange, so
extreme, that it brought with it something unprecedented: total freedom. All my
family’s efforts to make me the same as everyone else had exactly the opposite
result: I was now completely different from all the other young men of my own
age.

That same night, I considered my future. One option was to become a writer; the
other, which seemed more viable, was to go properly mad. I would be supported by
the State, I would never have to work or take on any responsibility. I would, of
course, have to spend a great deal of time in mental institutions, but I knew
from my own experience that patients there do not behave like the mad people you
see in Hollywood films. Apart from a few pathological cases of catatonia or
schizophrenia, all the other patients were perfectly capable of talking about
life and had their own highly original ideas on the subject. Every now and then,
they would suffer panic attacks, bouts of depression or aggression, but these
did not last.

The greatest risk I ran in hospital was not of losing all hope of ever becoming
President of the Republic, nor of feeling marginalised or unfairly treated by my
family – because in my heart I knew that having me admitted to hospital was a
desperate act of love and over-protectiveness on their part. The greatest risk I
ran was of coming to think of that situation as normal.
When I came out of hospital for the third time – after the usual cycle of
escaping from hospital/travelling around/going back home/enjoying a honeymoon
period with my family/getting into bad company again/being readmitted into
hospital – I was nearly twenty and had become accustomed to that rhythm of
events. This time, however, something had changed.

Although I again got into ‘bad company’, my parents were growing reluctant to
have me readmitted to a mental hospital. Unbeknown to me, they were by then
convinced that I was a hopeless case, and preferred to keep me with them and to
support me for the rest of my life.

My behaviour went from bad to worse, I became more aggressive, but still there
was no mention of hospital. I experienced a period of great joy as I tried to
exercise my so-called freedom, in order, finally, to live the ‘artist’s life’. I
left the new job my parents had found for me, I stopped studying, and I
dedicated myself exclusively to the theatre and to frequenting the bars favoured
by intellectuals. For one long year, I did exactly as I pleased; but then the
theatre group was broken up by the political police, the bars became infiltrated
by spies, my stories were rejected by every publisher I sent them to, and none
of the girls I knew wanted to go out with me – because I was a young man without
a future, with no real career, and who had never even been to university.

So, one day, I decided to trash my bedroom. It was a way of saying, without
words: ‘You see, I can’t live in the real world. I can’t get a job, I can’t
realise my dream. I think you’re absolutely right: I am mad, and I want to go
back to the mental hospital!’

Fate can be so ironic* When I had finished wrecking my room, I was relieved to
see that my parents were phoning the psychiatric hospital. However, the doctor
who usually dealt with me was on holiday. The nurses arrived with a junior
doctor in tow. He saw me sitting there surrounded by torn-up books, broken
records, ripped curtains, and asked my family and the nurses to leave the room.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
I didn’t reply. A madman should always behave like someone not of this world.
‘Stop playing around,’ he said. ‘I’ve been reading your case history. You’re not
mad at all, and I won’t admit you to the hospital.’
He left the room, wrote a prescription for some tranquillisers and (so I found
out later) told my parents that I was suffering from ‘admission syndrome’.
Normal people who, at some point, find themselves in an abnormal situation –
such as depression, panic, etc. – occasionally use illness as an alternative to
life. That is, they choose to be ill, because being ‘normal’ is too much like
hard work. My parents listened to his advice and never again had me admitted
into a mental institution.

From then on, I could no longer seek comfort in madness. I had to lick my wounds
alone, I had to lose some battles and win others, I often had to abandon my
impossible dream and work in offices instead, until, one day, I gave it all up
for the nth time and I went on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. There I
realised that I could not keep refusing to face up to my fate of ‘being an
artist’, which, in my case, meant being a writer. So, at 38, I decided to write
my first book and to risk entering into a battle which I had always
subconsciously feared: the battle for a dream.

I found a publisher and that first book (The Pilgrimage – about my experience on
the Road to Santiago) led me to The Alchemist, which led me to others, which led
to translations, which led to lectures and conferences all over the world.
Although I had kept postponing my dream, I realised that I could do so no
longer, and that the Universe always favours those who fight for what they want.

In 1997, after an exhausting promotional tour across three continents, I began
to notice a very odd phenomenon: what I had wanted on that day when I trashed my
bedroom seemed to be something a lot of other people wanted too. People
preferred to live in a huge asylum, religiously following rules written by who
knows who, rather than fighting for the right to be different. On a flight to
Tokyo, I read the following in a newspaper:

According to Statistics Canada: 40% of people between 15 and 34, 33% of people
between 35 and 54, and 20% of people between 55 and 64 have already had some
kind of mental illness. It is thought that one in every five individuals suffers
from some form of psychiatric disorder.

I thought: Canada has never had a military dictatorship, it’s considered to have
the best quality of life in the world, why then are there so many mad people
there? Why aren’t they in mental hospitals?

That question led me on to another: what exactly is madness?
I found the answers to both those questions. First, people aren’t in mental
institutions because they continue to be socially productive. If you are capable
of getting in to work at 9.00 a.m. and staying until 5.00 p.m., then society
does not consider you incapacitated. It doesn’t matter if, from 5.01 p.m. until
8.59 a.m. you sit in a catatonic state in front of the television, indulge in
the most perverted sexual fantasies on the Internet, stare at the wall, blaming
the world for everything and feeling generally put upon, feel afraid to go out
into the street, are obsessed with cleanliness or a lack of cleanliness, suffer
from bouts of depression and compulsive crying. As long as you can turn up for
work and do your bit for society, you don’t represent a threat. You’re only a
threat when the cup finally overflows and you go out into the street with a
machine gun in your hand, like a character in a child’s cartoon, and kill
fifteen children in order to alert the world to the pernicious effects of Tom
and Jerry. Until you do that, you are deemed to be normal.

And madness? Madness is the inability to communicate.

Between normality and madness, which are basically the same thing, there exists
an intermediary stage: it is called ‘being different’. And people were becoming
more and more afraid of ‘being different’. In Japan, after giving much thought
to the statistical information I had just read, I decided to write a book based
on my own experiences. I wrote Veronika Decides to Die, in the third person and
using my feminine ego, because I knew that the important subject to be addressed
was not what I personally had experienced in mental institutions, but, rather,
the risks we run by being different and yet our horror of being the same.
When I had finished, I went and talked to my father. Once the difficult time of
adolescence and early youth was over, my parents never forgave themselves for
what they did to me. I always told them that it really hadn’t been that bad and
that prison (for I was imprisoned three times for political reasons) had left
far deeper scars, but my parents refused to believe me and spent the rest of
their lives blaming themselves.

‘I’ve written a book about a mental institution,’ I said to my 85-year-old
father. ‘It’s a fictional work, but there are a couple of pages where I speak as
myself. It means going public about the time I spent in mental hospitals.’
My father looked me in the eye and said:
‘Are you sure it won’t harm you in any way?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘Then go ahead. I’m tired of secrets.’

“Veronika Decides to Die” came out in Brazil in August 1998. By September, I had
received more than 1,200 e-mails and letters relating similar experiences. In
October, some of the themes touched on in the book – depression, panic attacks,
suicide – were discussed in a seminar that had national repercussions. On 22
January 1999, Senator Eduardo Suplicy, read out passages from my book to the
other senators, and managed to get approval for a law which they had been trying
to get through the Brazilian Congress for the last ten years, a law forbidding
arbitrary admissions into mental institutions.

Paulo Coelho

Translated by Margaret Jull Costa

PAULO COELHO: GLI AFORISMI PIÙ FAMOSI

DATE: 09/02/2022

AUTHOR: PAULO COELHO

Paulo Coelho ha riscontrato un così elevato successo che è una sfida incontrare
qualcuno che non conosca neanche una frase tra le molte citazioni divenute
celebri dello scrittore. Tratte dai suoi libri, le frasi di Paulo Coelho si
prestano molto bene ad essere condivise sui social, per diffondere dettagli,
amore e purezza nello sguardo di […]

Non siamo chi vogliamo essere. Siamo ciò che la società richiede. Siamo ciò che
i nostri genitori scelgono. Non vogliamo deludere nessuno; abbiamo un grande
bisogno di essere amati. Quindi soffociamo il meglio in noi. A poco a poco, la
luce dei nostri sogni si trasforma nel mostro dei nostri incubi. Diventano cose
non fatte, possibilità non vissute.
Adulterio

Tutte le religioni portano allo stesso Dio e tutti meritano lo stesso rispetto.
Chiunque scelga una religione sta anche scegliendo un modo collettivo per
adorare e condividere i misteri. Tuttavia, quella persona è l’unica responsabile
delle sue azioni lungo la strada e non ha il diritto di spostare la
responsabilità di qualsiasi decisione personale su quella religione.
Come il fiume che scorre

Se credo che vincerò, allora la vittoria crederà in me.
Aleph

I luoghi magici sono sempre belli e meritano di essere contemplati… Rimani
sempre sul ponte tra l’invisibile e il visibile.

All’inizio c’era solo una piccola quantità di ingiustizia all’estero nel mondo,
ma tutti coloro che sono venuti dopo hanno aggiunto la loro parte, pensando
sempre che fosse molto piccola e poco importante, e guardiamo dove siamo finiti
oggi.
Il diavolo e Miss Prym

I guerrieri della luce non sono perfetti. La loro bellezza sta nell’accettare
questo fatto e nel voler ancora crescere e imparare.
Guerriero della luce

Quando ci mettiamo in cammino, abbiamo sempre un’idea abbastanza chiara di ciò
che speriamo di trovare. Le donne generalmente cercano la loro anima gemella e
gli uomini cercano potere. Nessuna delle parti è davvero interessata
all’apprendimento. Vogliono semplicemente raggiungere ciò che hanno fissato come
obiettivo.
Brida

Ma c’è sofferenza nella vita e ci sono sconfitte. Nessuno può evitarli. Ma è
meglio perdere alcune delle battaglie nelle lotte per i tuoi sogni che essere
sconfitto senza mai sapere per cosa stai combattendo.

Il Marchese De Sade ha affermato che le esperienze più importanti che un uomo
può avere sono quelle che lo portano al limite; questo è l’unico modo in cui
impariamo, perché richiede tutto il nostro coraggio.
Undici minuti

I guerrieri della luce hanno sempre un certo luccichio nei loro occhi. Sono di
questo mondo, fanno parte della vita degli altri e sono partiti per il loro
viaggio senza borse laterali e sandali. Sono spesso codardi. Non sempre prendono
le giuste decisioni.

“Vai a prendere le tue cose”, disse. I sogni significano lavoro.
Sulla sponda del fiume Piedra, mi sono seduto e pianto

Dio ci permette di vedere queste cose solo quando vuole che qualcosa cambi.
Aleph

Frasi Paulo Coelho, “Aleph”
Esistono due tipi di idioti: quelli che non agiscono perché hanno ricevuto una
minaccia e quelli che pensano di agire perché hanno lanciato una minaccia.
Il diavolo e Miss Prym

Nessuno possiede niente. Chiunque abbia perso qualcosa che pensava fosse il loro
per sempre alla fine si rende conto che nulla appartiene davvero a loro. E se
nulla mi appartiene, non ha senso sprecare il mio tempo a occuparmi di cose che
non sono mie.
Undici minuti

Non è il momento che cambia l’uomo né la conoscenza, l’unica cosa che può
cambiare la mente di qualcuno è l’amore.
Undici minuti

Se solo tutti potessero conoscere e vivere con la loro follia interiore. Il
mondo sarebbe un posto peggiore per questo? No, la gente sarebbe più giusta e
più felice.
Veronika decide di morire

Capiremo pienamente il miracolo della vita solo quando consentiremo che si
verifichino imprevisti.
Sulla sponda del fiume Piedra, mi sono seduto e pianto

I ricordi vincono sempre, e con loro arriva un demone ancora più terrificante
della malinconia: il rimorso.
The Spy

E se sono solo a letto, andrò alla finestra, guarderò il cielo e sentirò che la
solitudine è una bugia, perché l’Universo è lì per farmi compagnia.
Manoscritto trovato ad Accra

Dicono che gli estroversi siano infelici degli introversi e devono compensare
ciò dimostrando costantemente a se stessi quanto sono felici, contenti e a
proprio agio con la vita.
La strega di Portobello

Questa volta non ho intenzione di raccontarti una storia. Dirò solo che la
follia è l’incapacità di comunicare le tue idee. È come se fossi in un paese
straniero, in grado di vedere e comprendere tutto ciò che accade intorno a te ma
incapace di spiegare ciò che devi sapere o di essere aiutato, perché non capisci
la lingua che parlano lì.
Veronika decide di morire

Se solo tutti potessero conoscere e vivere con la loro follia interiore. Il
mondo sarebbe un posto peggiore per questo? No, la gente sarebbe più giusta e
più felice.
Veronika decide di morire

Che cos’è un insegnante? Te lo dico: non è qualcuno che insegna qualcosa, ma
qualcuno che ispira lo studente a dare del suo meglio per scoprire ciò che già
sa.
La strega di Portobello

Non essere come quelle persone che credono nel” pensiero positivo “e si dicono
che sono amati, forti e capaci. Non è necessario farlo perché lo sai già. E
quando ne dubiti – il che accade, penso, abbastanza spesso in questa fase
dell’evoluzione – fai come ti ho suggerito. Invece di provare a dimostrare che
sei meglio di quanto pensi, ridi e basta. Ridi delle tue preoccupazioni e
insicurezze.
La strega di Portobello

Frasi Paulo Coelho, “Undici minuti”

FRASI PAULO COELHO SUL DOLORE

Chi scrive deve conoscere il dolore. E Paulo Coelho sicuramente sa di cosa sta
parlando, sa la forza della sofferenza, l’importanza delle conseguenza che un
dolore può causare e lasciare con sé. È proprio quello che succede quando uno
scrittore si dedica alla sua attività prediletta: si immerge nella sofferenza e
ne trae dell’arte.

È possibile evitare il dolore? Sì, ma non imparerai mai nulla. È possibile
sapere qualcosa senza averlo mai provato? Sì, ma non farà mai veramente parte di
te.
Aleph

Se solo tutti potessero conoscere e vivere con la loro follia interiore. Il
mondo sarebbe un posto peggiore per questo? No, la gente sarebbe più giusta e
più felice.
Veronika decide di morire

Chi non ha sentito l’impulso di abbandonare tutto e andare alla ricerca del
proprio sogno? Un sogno è sempre rischioso, perché c’è un prezzo da pagare. Quel
prezzo è la morte per lapidazione in alcuni paesi e in altri potrebbe essere
l’ostracismo o l’indifferenza sociale. Ma c’è sempre un prezzo da pagare.
Adulterio

Chiunque viva nel suo mondo è pazzo. Come schizofrenici, psicopatici, maniaci.
Intendo persone diverse dagli altri.
Come te?
Veronika Decide di Morire

Resta arrabbiato, ma comportati come le persone normali. Corri il rischio di
essere diverso, ma impara a farlo senza attirare l’attenzione.

Sono solo quelli che sono persistenti e disposti a studiare le cose in
profondità, che realizzano il lavoro principale.

A volte devi fare molta strada per trovare ciò che è vicino.
Aleph

Abbiamo sempre la tendenza a vedere quelle cose che non esistono e ad essere
ciechi alle grandi lezioni che sono proprio lì davanti ai nostri occhi.

Ogni volta che qualcuno muore, muore anche una parte dell’universo. Tutto ciò
che una persona ha sentito, sperimentato e visto muore con loro, come lacrime
sotto la pioggia.
The Winner Stands Alone

Non cercare di essere utile. Cerca di essere te stesso: basta e fa la
differenza.
Manoscritto trovato ad Accra

La tristezza non dura per sempre quando camminiamo nella direzione di ciò che
abbiamo sempre desiderato.
La quinta montagna

Nessuno dovrebbe mai chiedersi questo: perché sono infelice? La domanda porta al
suo interno il virus che distruggerà tutto. Se facciamo questa domanda,
significa che vogliamo scoprire cosa ci rende felici. Se ciò che ci rende felici
è diverso da quello che abbiamo ora, allora dobbiamo cambiare una volta per
tutte o rimanere come siamo, sentendoci ancora più infelici.

Oggi sono una donna divisa tra il terrore che tutto potrebbe cambiare e lo
stesso terrore che tutto potrebbe portare avanti esattamente lo stesso per il
resto dei miei giorni.
Adulterio

La morte libera dalla paura di morire.
Veronika decide di morire

Tutto, assolutamente tutto su questa terra ha un senso, e anche le cose più
piccole sono degne della nostra considerazione.
La strega di Portobello

Chiudi alcune porte. Non per orgoglio, incapacità o arroganza, ma semplicemente
perché non conducono più da qualche parte.

Frasi Paulo Coelho, “Aleph”
Solo due cose possono rivelare i grandi segreti della vita: la sofferenza e
l’amore.
Aleph

E ho iniziato a sentirmi dispiaciuto per me stesso; per così tanti anni, il mio
cassetto pieno di ricordi aveva conservato le stesse vecchie storie.
Sulle sponde del fiume Piedra, mi sono seduto e pianto

Se un giorno potessi uscire di qui, mi permetterei di essere pazzo. Tutti sono
davvero pazzi, ma i più folli sono quelli che non sanno di essere pazzi;
continuano a ripetere ciò che gli altri dicono loro.

L’ora più buia è quella che precede il sorgere del sole.

È solitudine. Anche se sono circondato da persone care che si prendono cura di
me e vogliono solo il meglio, è possibile che provino ad aiutare solo perché
provano la stessa cosa – la solitudine – e perché, in un gesto di solidarietà,
troverai la frase “Sono utile, anche se solo” scolpito nella pietra. Sebbene il
cervello dica che tutto va bene, l’anima è persa, confusa, non sa perché la vita
sia ingiusta nei suoi confronti.
Adulterio

Qual è la più grande menzogna del mondo? È questa: che a un certo punto della
nostra vita, perdiamo il controllo di ciò che ci sta accadendo e le nostre vite
diventano controllate dal destino.

e devo essere fedele a qualcuno o qualcosa, prima di tutto devo essere fedele a
me stesso.
Undici minuti

Sono due donne: una vuole avere tutta la gioia, la passione e l’avventura che la
vita può darmi. L’altro vuole essere schiavo della routine, della vita
familiare, delle cose che possono essere pianificate e realizzate. Sono una
casalinga e una prostituta, viviamo entrambe nello stesso corpo e combattiamo
l’una con l’altra.

Sognare molto piacevole finché non sei costretto a mettere in pratica i tuoi
sogni.
Undici minuti

Gli esseri umani possono sopportare una settimana senza acqua, due settimane
senza cibo, molti anni di senzatetto, ma non la solitudine. È la peggiore di
tutte le torture, la peggiore di tutte le sofferenze.

Non è più la mia storia: ogni volta che parlo del passato, mi sento come se
stessi parlando di qualcosa che non ha nulla a che fare con me. Tutto ciò che
rimane nel presente sono la voce, la presenza e l’importanza di compiere la mia
missione. Non rimpiango le difficoltà che ho riscontrato; Penso che mi abbiano
aiutato a diventare la persona che sono oggi, sento il modo in cui un guerriero
deve sentirsi dopo anni di allenamento; non ricorda i dettagli di tutto ciò che
ha imparato, ma sa come colpire quando è il momento giusto.

FRASI PAULO COELHO: TRA VITA E ISPIRAZIONE

Chi più di uno scrittore che ha sofferto ma ama la vita può essere
d’ispirazione? Paulo Coelho è questo scrittore, con le sue frasi sul mondo,
sulla vita e gli uomini ha ispirato generazioni intere.

Non mollare mai. Quando il tuo cuore si stanca, cammina solo con le gambe, ma
vai avanti.

Sii pazzo! Ma impara a essere pazzo senza essere al centro dell’attenzione. Sii
abbastanza coraggioso da vivere diverso.

I luoghi magici sono sempre belli e meritano di essere contemplati… Rimani
sempre sul ponte tra l’invisibile e il visibile.

Le fiabe erano state la sua prima esperienza nell’universo magico, e più di una
volta si era chiesta perché le persone finissero per prendere le distanze da
quel mondo, conoscendo l’immensa gioia che l’infanzia aveva portato alla loro
vita.
Brida

Essere umani significa avere dubbi e continuare ancora sul tuo cammino.
Brida

Nessuno mette i suoi sogni nelle mani di coloro che potrebbero distruggerli.
La strega di Portobello

Devi stare attento a non lasciare mai che i dubbi ti paralizzino. prendi sempre
le decisioni che devi prendere, anche se non sei sicuro di fare la cosa giusta.
Non sbaglierai mai se, quando prendi una decisione, tieni a mente un vecchio
proverbio tedesco: “Il diavolo è nei dettagli”. Ricorda quel proverbio e sarai
sempre in grado di trasformare una decisione sbagliata in una giusta.
Brida

“Dici che creano la propria realtà”, ha detto Veronika, “ma cos’è la realtà?”
Veronika decide di morire

Era la pura lingua del mondo. Non richiedeva alcuna spiegazione, proprio come
l’universo non ne ha bisogno mentre viaggia attraverso un tempo infinito. Ciò
che il ragazzo sentì in quel momento fu che era in presenza dell’unica donna
della sua vita e che, senza bisogno di parole, riconobbe la stessa cosa. Ne era
più certo che di qualsiasi altra cosa al mondo.

Se all’inizio c’erano così poche persone sulla faccia della terra, e ora ce ne
sono così tante, da dove provengono tutte quelle nuove anime? La risposta è
semplice. In certe reincarnazioni, ci dividiamo in due. Le nostre anime si
dividono così come i cristalli e iniziano, cellule e piante. La nostra anima si
divide in due e quelle anime a loro volta si trasformano in due e così, nel giro
di poche generazioni, siamo sparsi su gran parte della terra.
Brida

Frasi Paulo Coelho
Il viaggio non è mai una questione di soldi ma di coraggio.

Ridi delle tue preoccupazioni e insicurezze. Visualizza le tue ansie con
umorismo. All’inizio sarà difficile, ma ti abituerai gradualmente. Ora torna
indietro e incontra tutte quelle persone che pensano che tu sappia tutto.
Convinciti che hanno ragione, perché sappiamo tutti tutto, è semplicemente una
questione di credere.
La strega di Portobello

Se devo cadere, possa essere da un posto alto.

Perché credevi che fossi in grado di comportarmi in modo decente, l’ho fatto.

Borges ha detto che ci sono solo quattro storie da raccontare: una storia
d’amore tra due persone, una storia d’amore tra tre persone, la lotta per il
potere e il viaggio. Tutti noi scrittori riscriviamo queste stesse storie
all’infinito.

La vita può sembrare breve o la vita può sembrare lunga, a seconda di come la
vivi.
Il diavolo e Miss Prym

Perdona ma non dimenticare, o ti farai di nuovo male. Il perdono cambia le
prospettive. Dimenticare perde la lezione.

Non lasciarti intimidire dalle opinioni degli altri. Solo la mediocrità è sicura
di se stessa, quindi prenditi dei rischi e fai quello che vuoi davvero fare.

Un uomo che cerca solo la luce, evitando le proprie responsabilità, non troverà
mai l’illuminazione. E uno che tiene gli occhi fissi sul sole finisce cieco.
Maktub

Ogni volta che vuoi ottenere qualcosa, tieni gli occhi aperti, concentrati e
assicurati di sapere esattamente cosa vuoi. Nessuno può colpire il bersaglio con
gli occhi chiusi.

A volte, siamo così attaccati al nostro modo di vivere che rifiutiamo
meravigliose opportunità semplicemente perché non sappiamo cosa farne.

Le persone danno fiori come regalo perché i fiori contengono un vero significato
di amore. Chiunque cerchi di possedere un fiore dovrà veder svanire la sua
bellezza. Ma se guardi semplicemente un fiore nel campo, lo manterrai per
sempre. Questo è ciò che la foresta mi ha insegnato. Che non sarai mai mio, ed è
per questo che non ti perderò mai.

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