The Hour of the Star

by Clarice Lispector

Who hasn’t ever wondered: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?

I write because I have nothing else to do in the world: I was left over and there is no place for me in the world of men. I write because I’m desperate and I’m tired, I can no longer bear the routine of being me and if not for the always novelty that is writing, I would die symbolically every day.

It’s better for me not to speak of happiness or unhappiness — it provokes that swooning longing and lilac, that violet perfume, the chilly waters of the gentle tide in foam upon the sand. I don’t want to provoke because it hurts.

As a new perfume enthusiast, I’m determine to find a perfume that invokes what I feel from this quote