Each sort of cheese reveals a pasture of a different green, under a different sky.

So began their love, the boy happy and amazed, she happy and not surprised at all (nothing happens by chance to girls). It was the love so long awaited by Cosimo and which had now inexplicably arrived, and so lovely that he could not imagine how he had even thought it lovely before. And the thing newest to him was that it was so simple, and the boy at that moment thought it must be like that always.

In abortion, the person who is massacred, physically and morally, is the woman.

Work stops at sunset. Darkness falls over the building site. The sky is filled with stars. "There is the blueprint," they say.

Literature remains alive only if we set ourselves immeasurable goals, far beyond all hope of achievement. Only if poets and writers set themselves tasks that no one else dares imagine will literature continue to have a function.

A classic is a book which with each rereading offers as much of a sense of discovery as the first reading.

In love, as in gluttony, pleasure is a matter of the utmost precision.