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I look for myself, but I do not find myself. I belong to chrysanthemum hours, clearly delineated in long rows of vases. I must make something decorative of my soul.

I don’t know what overly /pompous/ and well-chosen details define the substance of my spirit. My love for the ornamental exists, no doubt, because I feel in it something identical to the substance of my soul.

— Bernardo Soares (Fernando Pessoa), The Book of Disquiet