Una storia e poesia dell’anima.

Come l’acqua, la beva ogni giorno...

” She rolled over on her back and lay still for a moment in the great bed watching the February sun suffer one last attenuated refinement in its passage through the leaded panes into the room.

For a time she had no accurate sense of her whereabouts or of the events of the day before, or the day before that, then, like a suspended pendulum, memory began to beat out its story, releasing with each swing a burdened quota of time until her life was given back to her… ”

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Naiad by Antonio Canova

https://www.metmuseum.org/pubs/bulletins/1/pdf/3258555.pdf.bannered.pdf

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