Out of a few misunderstandings with reality we construct beliefs and hopes, and we live on these crusts, which we call bread, just like poor children who play at being happy.

Pessoa’s image suggests that much of what we call “belief” or “hope” is improvised from small misreadings of the world. Rather than nourishing truths, these consolations are compared to crusts mistaken for bread—meager substitutes that nonetheless keep us going. The simile of “poor children who play at being happy” sharpens the pathos: happiness becomes a game of make-believe performed under conditions of scarcity. The quote fits Pessoa’s recurring preoccupation with illusion, self-deception, and the fragile narratives by which consciousness endures reality, implying both a critique of comforting fictions and a compassionate recognition of their psychological necessity.