“ITALIAN CHRONICLES”
Love, which has no end but itself, the soul never stops feeling, a kind of blaze kindled by a heavenly spark, never leaving following one’s instincts.
Love, which has no end but itself, the soul never stops feeling, a kind of blaze kindled by a heavenly spark, never leaving following one’s instincts.
The necessity to tell stories, with the pen, the brush, the camera or the hammer. The dreams turn to shapes that can be touched by hands, as if dreams of night come to life, at some lonely and desolate places inside.