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