What remains to be done must be done by you; since in order not to deprive us of our free will and such share of glory as belongs to us, God will not do everything himself. ― Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince. (Dante University of America Press; 2nd edition, May 15, 2003) Advertisements
Nothing is more fleeting than the external form, which withers and alters like the flowers of the field at the appearance of autumn. — Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose. (Everyman’s Library; First Edition edition September 26, 2006) Originally published 1980.
The black and white flight of swallows rising and falling in a line from the telegraph pole to the sea does not ease the pain you feel by the water nor bring you back to somewhere you have left. — Eugenio Montale, from “VII,” Mottetti: Poems of Love (Graywolf Press, 1990)
Maybe it’s that life, at times, gets to you in a way that there’s really nothing more to say. — Alessandro Baricco, Silk (Vintage,1998)
And in the kisses, what deep sweetness! There are women’s mouths that seem to ignite with love the breath that opens them. Whether they are reddened by blood richer than purple, or frozen by the pallor of agony, whether they are illuminated by the goodness of consent or darkened by the shadow of disdain, they… Continue reading Gabriele D’Annunzio
For everyone death has a look. Death will come with your eyes. It will be like terminating a vice, as seen in the mirror a dead face re-emerging, like listening to closed lips. We’ll go down the abyss in silence. — Cesar Pavese, from “Death Will Come With Your Eyes,” Verrà la morte e avrà… Continue reading Cesar Pavese
As for me, I used to be a bird with a gentle white womb, someone cut my throat just for laughs, I don’t know. As for me, I used to be a great albatross and whirled over the seas. Someone put an end to my journey, without any charity in the tone of… Continue reading Alda Merini