I think speaking Italian affects your whole body movement. It's so musical and animated and passionate.
The market kills more artistic passion than anything else.
The human heart has a way of making itself large again even after it's been broken into a million pieces.
Life is never easy for those who dream.
In a universe of ambiguity, this kind of certainty comes only once, and never again, no matter how many lifetimes you live.
Analysis destroys wholes. Some things, magic things, are meant to stay whole. If you look at their pieces, they go away.
We have both lost ourselves and created something else, something that exists only as an interlacing of the two of us.
My wife keeps on telling me my worst fault is that I keep things to myself and appear relaxed. But I am really in a room in my own head and not hearing a thing anyone is saying.
He ploughs the waves, sows the sand, and hopes to gather the wind in a net, who places his hopes on the heart of a woman. [It. , Ne l'onde solca, e ne l'arena semina, E'l vago vento spera in rete acogliere Chi sue speranze fonda in cor di femina. ]
An idea in man is first impressed upon him and afterwards expressed in things, but in God it is only expressed, not impressed, because it does not come from anywhere else.
Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits.