Top 10 Quotes & Sayings by Antonio Lobo Antunes

Explore popular quotes and sayings by a Portuguese novelist Antonio Lobo Antunes.
Last updated on April 15, 2025.
Antonio Lobo Antunes

António Lobo Antunes, GCSE is a Portuguese novelist and retired medical doctor. He has been named as a contender for the Nobel Prize in Literature. He has been awarded the 2000 Austrian State Prize, the 2003 Ovid Prize, the 2005 Jerusalem Prize, the 2007 Camões Prize, and the 2008 Juan Rulfo Prize.

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.
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.
I was very interested in the relationship between the man who speaks and the woman who listens. I was drawn to the idea that the relationship between a man and a woman can be something like a war itself, very cruel and violent.
Asylums are nothing more than gardens of human cabbages, of miserable, grotesque, repugnant human beings watered with the fertilizer of injections. — © Antonio Lobo Antunes
Asylums are nothing more than gardens of human cabbages, of miserable, grotesque, repugnant human beings watered with the fertilizer of injections.
There are 3 or 4 important things in life: Books, Friends, Women…and Messi
A long time ago, I read in a book that a woman's homeland is wherever she fell in love.
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.
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.
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.
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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