The longer you are in a place, the more you get under its layers.
All afternoon in the deck chair, I try to describe to my notebook the colors of the water and sky. How to translate sunlight into words?
As travel pushes me forward, memory keeps dragging me backward.
Anytime the perfume of orange and lemon groves wafts in the window; the human body has to feel suffused with a languorous well-being.
Italy's siren call lures us more and more.
I got the idea that to write books would be the best way to spend a life. I never thought of anything else that seemed like half as much fun, although in my next life I would like to be an architect, too, so I can have an easier time restoring houses.