“I do not understand. That phrase is so overwhelming that it transcends any understanding. Our understanding is always limited. But not to understand can be without frontiers. I feel myself much more complete when I do not understand. Not to understand, in the sense I mean, is a gift. I am not referring to the simple-minded. The desirable thing is to be intelligent and not to understand. It is a strange blessing, like experiencing madness without being insane. It is quiet indiferrence, an idiotic gentleness. Apart from the occasional moment of disquiet : I should like to understand a little. Not too much : but at least to understand that I do not understand.”
Clarice Lispector, Discovering the World (Manchester : Carcanet 1992), p.227.