With this place you lose a lot of unnecessary time. Refrain people responsible and smart.
One day in the middle of last week that is coming to an end (indeed, it has already begun a new, ohibò), in short, on this day in the middle of the week, maybe it was Wednesday, the phone rings.
I'm going to respond, is my mom.
I sit comfortably in the rocking chair placed near the shelf where is the telecom unit, the one with white thread, one that gives the telecom and pay a monthly Fracci of money on rent, I take the phone, say Hello, hello mum how are you how are you how are you? right? benebene, even us, all of us, well us.
Then, suddenly, the story that I and his son, Saturday and Sunday, we're going to Venice, and they are the pair won the tender " A weekend with your beloved grandchildren . In doing this, my long monologue, however, unique discusisone, casually pull it out of an old book library, but old in the true sense, in the old sense of old, found last summer in a stall in the center to 2.50 euro, with the brownish rough and heavy pages so that is also hard to turn them over. It dates back to 1939 and was a certain Caimmi Franca, is his name written in ink, above, and is also written Cesenatico, July 18, 1939, always with a pen. A lot of data that we do not need anything.
old This book is the Autobiography of Vittorio Alfieri (bought as a lover of old things, which sometimes have as their only attraction just being old), then in truth I never opened. Well I happen to open the book at a random page, you do those things thoughtfully, and then it happens that even more, throw the eye, while your mother on the other side of the end of the line of the handset says things and stuff and things.
Well, I am completely at random (but my life is full of cases of life) before the following. On p.
121, third period, chapter III, Alfieri writes:
" And here I am finally in Venice. In the early days of the unusual places filled me with wonder and delight, and I even liked the jargon [...]. The crowd of strangers, the number of theaters, and a lot of fun and festivities [...] made me keep up to half in Venice in June, but I stayed so amused. The melancholy, boredom, and the intolerance of being, began again to give me their bitter bite as soon as the novelty of the objects trovavasi abate. I spent several days in Venice solissimo without leaving home, and doing nothing to stand at the window, where the segnuzzi was doing, and some brief dialogues with a young lady that I lived to face, and the rest of the day long, pass it to me or dozing, or ruminating, I do not know that, or more often in tears, I know that, and never find peace, or even investigate the reason you doubt me, that muddies or removed. "
reached the point" where segnuzzi was doing the "Elegantly I closed the book and I exaggerated a laugh that even a godmother of Goldoni, the thought of the poet at the window that makes the steam vent on the glass, and a little sad without even knowing why, in that of Venice, he doodles all day with his fingers and looking uggiosetto.
mind Then I remember that time we went to the dance Pignagnoli (the ultimissimissimo) and we heard the readings of another poet, Pignangoli, speaking of other poets and their sorrows, and I think he understood everything, Venice or Venice, and which says:
" The poet Pascoli, poor man, was evil. He drank a bottle of wine under a pergola, became a bit 'gay, but it was a joy that lasted little. After going to pull one of his jerking off, and he had never done so, the were all remorse in the world. Even his eyes, became dark and serious, and did not say a word. But the man who has a beautiful woman, he Guzzi's fine. "
(From the complete works of Learco Pignagnoli, Opera No. 107 Daniele Benati, Aliberti Ed.).
In short, we went to Padua for an exhibition in Venice and then to Venice, the Primal (scaricateveleve free) for Spinoza.it and their friends. And it was wonderful. I will post two three four five do not know how many. Maybe none. Because in the end, certain things, what you want.
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