I would like that you would come to me in winter evening and, tightened together behind the glasses, looking at the loneliness of the dark and frosted roads, we remembered the winters of fables, where we lived togheter without knowing it.
Within a sun beam that come inside from the window, sometimes we see the life in the air. And we call it dust.
I ignored the pleasure that the written word may bring, the pleasure of penetrating within the secrets of the soul, of abandoning oneself to imagination, to the beauty and mistery of literary invention.
One believes that when the things are good, when they have taken the course of happiness, the road will be always in slope, it's enough to give more boost and the pleasure increases, it becomes breathtaking, and we will be more and more happy until we reach the trampoline of the fortune and we fly in the nirvana of the perfect ass.
It's not like this.
Quickly humps, bumps, pebbles in the middle of the street, and swerves outside the hairpin curves. And in front of us a great climb where you don't see the top.
Words betray us, they never can transmit us what we want to say. But also we betray them, we should say what we have to say.
A writer never forgets the first time he accepts some coins or a praise in exchange for a story. He never forgets the first time he feels in his blood the sweet venom of vanity and believes that, if he shall be able to hide to all his lack of talent, the dream of literature may give him a roof above his head, warm food at the end of the day and above all everything he had ever desired for: his name printed on a miserable piece of paper that will surely live more than he ever shall. A writer is for ever condemned to remember that moment, because by then he is already lost and his soul already has a price.
By laughing you risk looking silly;
by crying you risk being called sentimental;
by entering in contact with someone you risk getting involved;
by showing your feelings you risk showing your true self;
by displaying your ideas and dreams you risk being called naive;
by loving you risk not being requited;
by living you risk dying;
by hoping you risk desperation and
by trying you risk failing.
But you must take risks, for the biggest risk in life is that of not risking anything.
The person who risks nothing is nothing and shall be nothing. They may avoid pain and anxiety, but they can't learn to fell and change and develop and love and live. Chained to their certainties, they're slaves.
They abandoned liberty.
Only he who risks shall be really free.
The majority of the traditions are not other that the diseases of a society.
She possessed a strange charm that seduced in a slow but relentless way.
One doesn't know what thirst is until one drinks for the first time.