O Months Of Blossoming, Months Of Transfigurations,

As If One Could Do What One Wanted With One's Own Body!

Can The Knowledge Deriving From Reason Even Begin To Compare With Knowledge Perceptible By Sense?

O Months Of Blossoming, Months Of Transfigurations, May Without Cloud And June Stabbed To The Heart, I Shall Not Ever Forget The Lilacs Or The Roses Nor Those The Spring Has Kept Folded Away Apart.

Love Is Made By Two People, In Different Kinds Of Solitude. It Can Be In A Crowd, But In An Oblivious Crowd.

Photography Intervenes In A Very Strange Way. It Makes The Streets, Gates, Squares Of The City Into Illustrations Of A Trashy Novel, Draws Off The Banal Obviousness Of This Ancient Architecture To Inject It With The Most Pristine Intensity.