Today I have so much to do: I must kill memory once and for all, I must turn my soul to stone, I must learn to live again. Unless ... Summer's ardent rustling is like a festival outside my window.

You do not know just what you've been forgiven.

The triumphs of a mysterious non-meeting are desolate ones; unspoken phrases, silent words.

Sweet to me was not the voice of man, But the wind's voice was understood by me. The burdocks and the nettles fed my soul, But I loved the silver willow best of all.

If you were music I would listen to you ceaselessly And my low spirits would brighten up.

You will hear thunder and remember me, and think: she wanted storms.

Italy is a dream that keeps returning for the rest of your life.