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António Lobo Antunes
18quotes
António Lobo Antunes: A Master of Portuguese Literature
Full Name and Common Aliases
António Lobo Antunes is a renowned Portuguese novelist, poet, and essayist, born as António Miguel Barreto da Veiga Lobo Antunes. He is commonly referred to by his pen name, António Lobo Antunes.
Birth and Death Dates
Born on February 5, 1942, in Lisbon, Portugal, Lobo Antunes passed away on June 28, 2023, leaving behind an enduring literary legacy.
Nationality and Profession(s)
Lobo Antunes is a Portuguese citizen by birth and profession. He worked as a surgeon before dedicating himself to writing full-time.
Early Life and Background
Growing up in a family of modest means, Lobo Antunes was raised in the heart of Lisbon. His early life was marked by a strong interest in literature and poetry, which he developed during his teenage years. After completing his secondary education, he studied medicine at the University of Lisbon, eventually becoming a respected surgeon.
Major Accomplishments
Lobo Antunes' writing career spans over five decades, during which he has published numerous novels, short stories, and essays that have been widely acclaimed for their literary merit and depth. Some of his notable works include:
"The Return of the Caravans" (1979) - a novel that explores the complexities of human relationships and the search for meaning in life.
"Fado" (1988) - a collection of short stories that delve into the world of traditional Portuguese music, known as Fado.
* "The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis" (1984) - a novel that explores the intersection of literature and reality.
Notable Works or Actions
Lobo Antunes' writing is characterized by its lyrical prose, complex characters, and exploration of themes such as love, death, and the human condition. His works often blend elements of realism, symbolism, and philosophical inquiry, reflecting his deep interest in the nature of existence.
Impact and Legacy
Throughout his career, Lobo Antunes has received numerous awards and accolades for his literary contributions. He is widely regarded as one of the most important Portuguese writers of his generation, known for his unique style and ability to capture the essence of human experience. His works have been translated into multiple languages and continue to be studied by scholars and readers worldwide.
Why They Are Widely Quoted or Remembered
Lobo Antunes' writing is often quoted and remembered for its profound insights into the human condition, offering a unique perspective on love, loss, and the search for meaning. His works have resonated with readers across cultures and generations, cementing his place as one of the most celebrated Portuguese writers of all time.
António Lobo Antunes' remarkable life and literary career serve as a testament to the power of imagination and the human spirit. Through his writing, he continues to inspire readers worldwide, reminding us of the enduring importance of literature in our lives.
Quotes by António Lobo Antunes
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It’s funny – my wife is more jealous of my books than of other women because I’m always working and thinking about my books.
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I suppose I have become a sort of living monument in Portugal. But I come from a family with roots all over the world, so the idea of patriotism is not very strong in me. My country is the country of Chekhov, Beethoven, Velasquez – writers I like, painters and artists I admire.
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A long time ago, I read in a book that a woman’s homeland is wherever she fell in love.
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Of all the doctors I have known, psychoanalysts, a congregation of lay priests with bible, rites, and the faithful, constitute the most sinister, the most ridiculous, the most unwholesome of the species.
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A long time ago, I read in a book that a woman's homeland is wherever she fell in love.
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Asylums are nothing more than gardens of human cabbages, of miserable, grotesque, repugnant human beings watered with the fertilizer of injections.
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Whenever anyone declares having read a book of mine I am disappointed by the error. That’s because my books are not to be read in the sense usually called reading: the only way it seems to me to approach the novels that I write is to catch them in the same manner that one catches an illness.
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I'm just giving you some spiel, the ludicrous plot of a novel, a story I invented to touch your heart—one-third bullshit, one-third booze, and one-third genuine tenderness, you know the kind of thing.
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Physically it's kind of lassitude, the apathy and tiredness that precedes the flu or some other illness, or death. My legs ache and feel heavy, my skin has become more sensitive to cold and to heat, to the hardness or rigidity of things. Nothing interests me, I feel uncomfortable being still but would feel even more uncomfortable if I moved. I don't know whether speaking is painful or just boring. I sit here, staring straight ahead, with no desires, no needs, hollow. I'm not even sad. I feel only passivity and indifference.
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