I do not want my house to be walled in on all sides and my windows to be stuffed. I want the cultures of all the lands to be blown about my house as freely as possible. But I refuse to be blown off my feet by any.

Mahatma Gandhi

I realize, I am quite insane, but it's all for love.

Beautiful

To Silvia by Giacomo Leopardi

Silvia, do you rememberthe moments, in your mortal life,when beauty still shonein your sidelong, laughing eyes,and you, light and thoughtful,went beyond girlhood’s limits?

The quiet rooms and the streetsaround you, soundedto your endless singing,when you sat, happily content,intent, on that woman’s work,the vague future, arriving alive in your mind.It was the scented May, and that’s howyou spent your day.

I would leave my intoxicating studies,and the turned-down pages,where my young life,the best of me, was left,and from the balcony of my father’s housestrain to catch the sound of your voice,and your hand, quick,running over the loom.I would look at the serene sky,the gold lit gardens and paths,that side the mountains, this side the far-off sea.And human tongue cannot saywhat I felt then.

What sweet thoughts,what hopes, what hearts, O Silvia mia!How it appeared to us then,all human life and fate!When I recall that hopesuch feelings pain me,harsh, disconsolate,I brood on my own destiny.Oh Nature, Naturewhy do you not give nowwhat you promised then? Whydo you so deceive your children?

Attacked, and conquered, by secret disease,you died, my tenderest one, and did not seeyour years flower, or feel your heart moved,by sweet praise of your black hairyour shy, loving looks. No friends talked with you, on holidays, about love.

My sweet hopes died alsolittle by little: to me tooFate has denied those years. Oh,how you have passed me by,dear friend of my new life,my saddened hope!Is this the world, the dreams, the loves, events, delights, we spoke about so much together?Is this our human life?At the advance of Truthyou fell, unhappy one,and from the distance,with your hand, you pointedtowards death’s coldness and the silent grave.