memory [Theme] Page 1

While she was wondering what to answer, Andrea took her palm and placed a flower in it. It reminded her of how the poet Mario Vazzo placed a fragile flower in the palm of her mother Pina Vella. As a child, she did not understand the meaning of this gesture. Now I understand.

Then, alarmed by unconfirmed rumors that the Inglesi would take away medals, war photographs and notices of the death of their husbands and sons in the war, people flocked to their gardens and fields to bury these relics. And even Amedeo one night took Flavio’s medal, wrapped it in a piece of leather and hid it under a palm tree in the yard.

He attached it to the inside of his cap to protect it from dirt. And dirt was everywhere, and if there was no dirt, then there was ice, when there was no ice, there was water, if not water, then gas and fog. It was a world of elements, here people were falling apart, people were foaming, people were screaming.

Language tools are like a checkered sheet for scaling an image. And an ear for music, like memory of notes, for reading the score of a work.

Lidka, why did you save all this? When I saw this room... I had no nostalgia there at all. Clean everything up here, let your girl live here.

Everything that once touched you to the depths of your soul, wounded you to the very heart, is not forgotten. It only becomes covered with time

We will always be together now. Once there is one, then there is another! They will remember me, and now they will remember you too! Me, a foundling, the son of unknown parents, and you, the son of the astrologer king and the miller’s daughter, the beautiful Pyla.

“We will always be together now,” a ragged philosopher-tramp told him in a dream, who, in some unknown way, stood in the way of a horseman with a golden spear. - Once there’s one, that means there’s another one too! They will remember me, and now they will remember you too! Me, a foundling, the son of unknown parents, and you, the son of the astrologer king and the miller’s daughter, the beautiful Pyla.

End of connection.

Father Elpidius. Cry, cry, widow Podsekalnikov. Hug your children and cry out with sobs: Where

Love is something that is always inside you, just like me. You don't need to destroy the Universe to save it.

A vivid dream entered my memory softly and elastically, like a knife entering butter... Not a single person in whom childhood is still alive, and especially a child, would forget such a dream, because a miracle is not forgotten...

There remains one supreme Judge and silent Witness!

An ungrateful, vile memory erases the good and leaves the bitter.