without end, as Gino Paoli's song about love, love.
What is Love? If you also asked Eduardo de Filippo in a poem written in Naples.
Love is something that smells like pink but pink is not.
When the high school I read the biographies of various writers, I was a mental fatigue, an incredible boredom at the thought of the futility of the thing.
For me, it was necessary to read the works of authors to understand. Now I have changed my mind. A person can understand the life she leads, the work it does, from his hobby.
So the deaths of several Manzoni and company have made me value the Betrothed University and sensitivity, the pain contained in those classics of Italian literature.
Usually when I talk begins with an argument and I end up somewhere.
I'll do the same in my new blog and guess who has the patience to follow me will be rewarded by me that I write so many beautiful things.
hug you all and I expect a message of welcome megagalattico!
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