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Antonio Porchia was born in Conflenti, with sources placing his birth date as either November 13, 1885, or November 25, 1886. The uncertainty over the precise date is a minor wrinkle in a life whose broad outlines are clear enough: he was a male writer who held Argentine citizenship and worked in the Spanish language. That combination of Argentine identity and Spanish-language expression sits at the center of what the record tells us about him.

Porchia worked as a writer, a poet, and an aphorist. The aphorism — a short, compressed form that demands precision from every word — was one of the modes he practiced. Writing in Spanish, he produced work across those three overlapping roles, and his Argentine citizenship places him within the literary culture of that country. Beyond those identifications, the available facts are quiet about the specific titles he produced or the particular arc of his publishing life.

What the record does offer is a clear sense of his categories: a man who wrote, who worked with the concentrated form of the aphorism, and who did so in Spanish as an Argentine. Those three facts together sketch a writer whose craft depended on economy of language, and who belonged, by citizenship, to Argentina. The geographic thread of his life runs from his birthplace in Conflenti to the country where he held citizenship, and finally to the city where he died.

Porchia died in Buenos Aires in November 1968, with sources giving the date as either the 6th or the 9th of that month. He was somewhere in his early eighties, depending on which birth date the record eventually settles on. The city of Buenos Aires, named in the facts as the place of his death, is the last concrete anchor his biography offers — a South American capital that marks the close of a life spent as a writer, poet, and aphorist working in Spanish.

Quotes by Antonio Porchia

Antonio Porchia's insights on:

When you seem to be listening to my words, they seem to be your words, with me listening.
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When you seem to be listening to my words, they seem to be your words, with me listening.
Night is world lit by itself.
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Night is world lit by itself.
Even the smallest of creatures carries the sun in its eyes.
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Even the smallest of creatures carries the sun in its eyes.
The little things are what is eternal, and the rest, all the rest, is brevity, extreme brevity.
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The little things are what is eternal, and the rest, all the rest, is brevity, extreme brevity.
Every time I wake, I understand how easy it is to be nothing.
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Every time I wake, I understand how easy it is to be nothing.
Lo que dicen las palabras no dura. Duran las palabras. Porque las palabras son siempre las mismas y lo que dicen no es nunca lo mismo.
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Lo que dicen las palabras no dura. Duran las palabras. Porque las palabras son siempre las mismas y lo que dicen no es nunca lo mismo.
Many things, In order to assure me their lack of existence; become mine.
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Many things, In order to assure me their lack of existence; become mine.
In that world I knew that good was killing me, but I thought it was evil.
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In that world I knew that good was killing me, but I thought it was evil.
If a fanatic is willing to give his life for a cause, he’s probably willing to give yours as well I know what I have given you. I do not know what you have received.
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If a fanatic is willing to give his life for a cause, he’s probably willing to give yours as well I know what I have given you. I do not know what you have received.
You know so much about me and yet you don’t understand me. To know is not to understand. We could know everything and still not understand anything.
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You know so much about me and yet you don’t understand me. To know is not to understand. We could know everything and still not understand anything.
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